Blood and Glitter
by MonDieu666
Summary: Harley has so few friends so when one makes a request of her, how could she refuse? Even if it meant swimming with the sharks without a cage. After all, like calls to like. [Pre Suicide Squad, an alternate version of how Harley met the Joker]
1. Chapter 1

**AN** : **Hi all, just a quick author note so everyone knows what they are getting with this story – don't worry, this should be the one and only. This is going to be a rebranding of a story I originally created almost a decade ago involving the Joker and an OC female character that I wrote before I even knew about the existence of Harley Quinn. It was pointed out to me, in a pretty dickish way I'll be honest, that the OC was very HQ-esque and my inexperienced, teenage self did not handle this super well and abandoned the fic. So I've edited it up and re-written a bunch to be a Harley x Joker story. I will be messing around with canon plot and how they originally met, heading in a slightly AU direction though hopefully not undermining the characters themselves. Full disclosure, I am only familiar with the movies and** _ **not**_ **the comic storylines. So Harley Quinn will draw from Suicide Squad and The Joker will also be Suicide Squad with a small dose of the Dark Knight thrown in. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.**

 **Prologue**

"Have you seen the latest video?"

She sighed audibly over the phone. He took that as confirmation.

"A psychiatrist's dream patient, wouldn't you say?"

"That is no patient," she said, speaking for the first time. "That is Pandora's box."

" _That_ is the most interesting man in Gotham."

"Even more so than you?" She deliberately taunted him.

"I can't compete with him. You've read the summary proposal - what are your thoughts on the matter?"

"I have no thoughts as there is no matter."

"Now, now, play nice. He's exactly your type."

There was a quiet scoff. "I prefer my madmen a little more… kempt."

"Is that really holding you back?"

There was a pause in the conversation. He could practically imagine her recrossing her long legs and rearranging herself on the leather couch, mulling it over. She was visible perfection. But it was a mask hiding one of the most manipulative minds he'd ever known. It was a beautifully ironic display of dichotomy.

It made her his equal. Almost.

"Maybe I don't think I can compete with him either."

"I thought that, of all things, would spur you into action."

"Jonathan, look at him. He has no natural desires. He is pure and absolute - a sociopath in the most extreme form! What makes you think I could tempt him?"

"My dear, you could tempt Satan."

"Regardless," she brushed away the flattery, "he doesn't care about physical beauty."

"No but he does like an enigma."

Another pause. "Go on."

Jonathon Crane clenched his fist in victory. He had her now.

"He is a man who likes to understand everything about him, likes to read people. What better way to deduce the perfect manner in which to thrust our world into spiralling chaos?"

"A pretty description." She sounded bored.

"Not pretty at all. Powerful. _Manic_."

Her breath hitched and Jonathan knew it wasn't fear. He grinned, already feeling the flush of success.

"See my dear, your reaction is absolute evidence of your suitability for the job."

"Am I to assume that my job is to be the enigma in question?"

"Who better?"

"You mean, who more sick and twisted?"

"You have the intellect and the training. You could be my femme fatale."

"So you're saying I _am_ sick and twisted?" She was forcing him to say it. She wanted to hear him say it.

"Ever notice how the ones drawn to our profession are usually the ones most in need of dire attention?" He evaded the question with his own.

"That isn't an answer."

Jonathan refused to relent that easily. He'd make her work for it if she really wanted it. "How would you describe it?"

"Morbid curiosity."

He let out a low chuckle. "Yes but with you that's less of a description and more of a clinical disorder."

"I'm ground breaking."

"In more ways than one. Am I to assume you are committed?"

"No but you can assume that I am willing to hear more details."

Jonathan had a full blown smirk. The Joker was getting a therapist.

Harleen Quinzel was a fascinating creature and it wasn't because of her beauty. In the day and age of plastic surgery, flawlessness was common place. On first meeting her in college he had dismissed her out of hand. A lovely shell but nothing terribly unique. Just a kid on a scholarship desperate to prove that she was more than her lower class background.

Jonathon was a teacher's assistant at the time and he honestly didn't think she'd last long. He was even more certain she'd be gone by the end of semester when her grades had plummeted.

He was stunned when the opposite had occurred. Her marks had risen steadily until she'd eclipsed even the brightest in her class. It puzzled him no end and he had no idea how she achieved it. She smiled pleasantly in class, exchanged polite conversation but never got too close to any of her classmates.

Unable to resist himself, after all he'd been much younger at the time, Jonathon had cornered her after class one day.

Trying to crowd the provincial beauty he'd leant across the desk in an attempt to intimidate her. "So, Harley, what's your story?"

She'd met his stare evenly and as he watched, her agreeable smile melted away leaving nothing but a cold, calculating gleam in her eyes.

"I prefer Harleen."

Maintaining eye contact, she'd carefully lifted herself out of her chair and strode out of the classroom without another word.

Simultaneously impressed and annoyed, Jonathon remembered that moment as the start of their friendship. What he discovered was a smart woman with a visionary mind almost completely devoid of ethics.

She'd eventually confessed that when she'd first come to university, she'd been so overwhelmed with that sheer volume of work that she'd begun to fail. Harleen had used her skill in gymnastics to get out of the hovel she'd grown up in and managed to earn a full ride to university. But even then she knew that her chances of making money long-term in competitive gymnastics was slim and she was not going home under any circumstances. Unable to bear the prospect of failing after fighting so hard to escape, she'd commenced a sexual relationship with a number of professors. Harleen had used her body first to get a stay of execution and then used it to gain access to some of the best minds in the university.

Harleen had admitted this to him after one too many glasses of vodka. She'd expected he'd be disappointed in her. Jonathon had found it very hard not to kiss her that night.

From there on Harleen began to forge her own identity. She discarded any innocence or naivety that had survived her childhood and replaced it with something of her own making. Jonathon's expert eye caught glimpses of her old self; that need for validation, the fear of being helpless, the craving for respect – but he only saw it in the most miniscule of doses and less and less as the years went by. Harleen Quinzel became elegant and lavish but hard as a tack underneath.

He never tried to call her Harley again. Like her vulnerability, it was something she wanted left in the past.

Harleen had been an integral sounding board when he had developed his fear elixir. She'd been excited by the revolutionary and cruel concept. Harleen had a deep seated attraction to chaotic minds. Not the pathetic, whining patients that they often treated and diagnosed with the standard boring disorders of schizoid paranoia. She loved her sociopaths, the criminally and clinically insane, the split personalities, the mastermind unhindered by morals. At times they'd both wondered if their own brains mirrored their patients.

She'd been out of the country when it had all come crumbling down around him and the Batman had sent him into his own asylum. He had never worked out if this had been happenstance or by design on her part but Jonathon didn't hold it against her. If she had played a part in his downfall then her assistance now would more than repay her debt.

Jonathon had also kept his silence on her involvement in creating the serum to spare her a turn in jail with him. He'd never felt the urge to protect another human being before. That in of itself was notable. He wanted her back in the cesspool that was Gotham and back in his life. Harleen was the closest thing he had to a friend and, he believed, a soul mate. Jonathan suspected she felt the same but it would be too simple to admit it to each other. Almost a weakness. Neither was going to be the first one to break.

She was the only woman capable enough to help. The only one with such a predilection towards the insane.

Jonathan didn't have a strong interest in The Joker. He thought him a little too brash. A little too vulgar. Certainly he was a fascinating animal but he was far too public. Insanity was fine, tolerated by society even, as long as you do it in private.

The Joker was broadcasting on national TV, revelling and wicked in his self-created pandemonium. Taunting the masked vigilante.

Inside his own fractured mind, Jonathan recognised an opportunity when it presented itself. He was pragmatic to a fault. He acknowledged The Joker as the force of nature he was and was downright gleeful with the potential of that type of power. He just needed the appropriate person to guide this force. Edge it in the right direction.

See, Jonathon had made a deal with the authorities. In exchange for his freedom, he would catch the most elusive madman to terrorise Gotham. The problem was, he knew The Joker wouldn't give him the time of the day. He needed someone non-threatening who would also pique his interest. Harleen was the obvious choice. In fact, she was the only choice. Even if his name wasn't mud in professional circles he would have turned to her for help.

And as for getting her to agree, that was simple enough too. Just a casual mention of all the awards and accolades she would get once she was responsible for catching The Joker. Behind all her walls, those flaws still existed – waiting to be exploited by a person who knew her well enough to find the cracks.

There was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that Harleen might get hurt in the process. Too insubstantial to be defined as guilt but there all the same. Still sacrifices must be made.

…

She was only Harley in two places. In her childhood home, which she hadn't visited in years, and inside her own head. Despite her best efforts to be Harleen inside and out, years of hearing her parents call her nothing but Harley had made it hard to shake.

Harley reclined in her chair and swirled her glass of red wine. Expensive but she loved her physical pleasures. She could remember all too clearly what it was like not to have enough. Not enough food, not enough heat, not enough clothes. She'd never accept 'not enough' again.

Jonathan was using her for his own ventures again. He might be the epic love of her warped life but he would manipulate her straight into her grave for his own advancement. It was one of the large motivators behind her decision to take a sabbatical in Europe.

She knew all this so she had to think his proposition over carefully. He likely thought her acceptance was a given but it wasn't. What was in it for her?

Certainly the promise of professional admiration had sweetened the deal. Unsurprisingly, Harley hadn't been able to lose the taint of her affairs with her professors. It was grating and it would be nice to not have people whisper behind her back whenever she walked into a conference or delivered a lecture. She'd more than proved herself since those beginnings.

But was that worth risking her life to achieve?

Harley had arrived back in the city for the social event of the season it seemed. This Batman had turned the city on its head, sweeping back the shadows and the corruption that had provided such fertile grounds to do whatever the hell one wanted to.

Harley had always wanted to do a number of things. Most of them of questionable morality. And while she had liked Europe, nowhere did degradation the way Gotham did.

There was one shining beacon of hope for people like her. The Joker. A man so terrifying Harley shuddered at the idea. She wondered if there were any remnants of a man inside him or if he was made up entirely of ideology and anarchy.

Harley hadn't been attracted to him either despite Jonathon's implications. There was something alien about him, more feral animal than man. However, the more she saw, the more she wanted to know.

She had been quietly disappointed when he had been thrust behind bars and she cursed Batman for protecting a society that hunted him. But yesterday had brought thrilling news. He had escaped. It also brought Jonathan's proposition.

She returned again to the ultimate question. How could this benefit her?

It would be a tantalising social experiment. The man was such a byzantine combination of contradictions. He claimed he had no plans but since he had pulled off such artistic debacles he needed to have some cohesion and organisation.

His origins were unknown but his behaviour reeked of professional training. An uncanny understanding of fighting and explosives. An absolute fearlessness and disregard for pain but strong survival instincts. And then there was the downright eerie knack of pin pointing exactly a person's weakness.

There was no known motivation or background. The makeup mask contorted his angular face into something frightening. Still as unusual as he was, all of this could be written off as a jovial nut job's desire to cause chaos. In those flashy clothes it was easy to dismiss him as a criminal showman. That was Harley's original assessment of the situation. But then she had seen the first tape broadcasted. The crackly camcorder and that high pitched, trademark giggle all accounted for. She hadn't been giving it her full attention.

She really should have.

"Look at me!" he had snarled. His voice no longer nasally or lilting but steady, rasping with malice.

Three simple words and he revealed the unadulterated darkness within and gotten right under her skin.

Now he was free and playing games once more? Well Harley wanted to play regardless of the stakes.

Morbid curiosity indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed and fave'd. If you like please review.**

Harley tapped her foot impatiently. The click click of her heels on ceramic tile echoed through her empty apartment. She was waiting like a skittish school girl for the phone to ring. Unfortunately the matter to be discussed was slightly more intimidating than a prom date.

It had been more than a week since she had agreed to play the puppet in Jonathan's little escapade. He had commenced planning, more or less leaving Harley to twiddle her thumbs and try and avoid anxiety setting in. They both knew she needed the perfect entrance into The Joker's life. One single misstep and she would fail. Or worse, die. Harley got the feeling that whilst she was more concerned about the second occurring, the first was Jonathon's main worry.

In the end the man himself had offered the solution with a new video calling out the mob, naming them as his next victims if they didn't concede his ruling. He hadn't wasted any time since his escape establishing his dominance in the city.

The mob had, according to Jonathan's sources, gone to ground. Not that going underground would save them –after all, if the Joker couldn't find them then he couldn't break them. Harley suspected he would find that unacceptable.

Well-placed sources had advised that apparently there was a mob meeting tonight in the industrial district to discuss their options and Harley was sure this was the place The Joker would stage his coup. She had every intention of being there for it.

Her cell tingled. She snatched it up but forced herself to wait another ten seconds before answering.

"Jonathan, what a pleasure to hear from you." Her tone was casual and even her face neutral.

"You weren't waiting by the phone were you?" His voice teased her. It was irritating that he knew her so well.

Harley decided not to deny it. "Of course I was, I take my phone everywhere. I wasn't, however waiting for your phone call."

"If you insist."

"I do. Do you have the location?" Tension strayed into her voice for the first time.

"I do and if I could find it-"

"Then most certainly The Joker could," Harley finished.

"I'll text you the address."

"I wish we could talk this through in person." Harley winced at how pathetic that made her sound but still she would have drawn some comfort from his presence. Most people found his icy blue eyes disconcerting, but Harley knew how they effected her when they softened and thawed.

Jonathan had refused to come to her apartment, claiming he could not be linked to her yet. His exploits as 'The Scarecrow' limited his ability to move around the city undetected. It wasn't widely known he'd been conditionally released. He wasn't sure if Batman had agreed to or was even aware of the District Attorney's offer of immunity.

"Harleen, you will be fine."

"Do I detect concern?"

"Not at all." He disconnected abruptly but not before Harley detected the strained quality in his voice.

She sighed and tossed the phone onto the counter and walked over to the mirror. Trying to ignore the pit in her stomach, she studied her reflection. Immaculate. The red dress draped off her curves exquisitely and so it should. She had paid an inordinate amount for it.

Her nails were manicured ruby and her make up tasteful. Her blond hair was left unbound around her shoulders. She looked elegant, composed and not at all subtle. Harley needed this to be The Joker's first impression of her.

He had to read all these visual clues and think he knew she was. It was near enough to impossible to gauge the true Harley Quinzel. No one truly knew who she was these days, not even herself.

There was still the hint of apprehension in her eyes. That needed to be taken care of. She had to be a picture of confidence even if she was screaming inside. Nothing he could do to others would shock her but if she became the target then that was a problem. She couldn't shake the ominous feeling that she'd agreed to go swimming with the sharks without a cage.

…..

The men of the mob did not seem particularly surprised to see him enter. Resignation painted their features. Had he become predictable? They did at least look horrified and that tickled him.

"Gentleman," he began. His voice coming from no lower than his throat. His glee at the situation evident in his tone.

Joker paused for dramatic effect, tugging on the plush velvet of his suit jacket. He was nothing if not an excellent performer.

"Your resistance to my control, it uh, what's the word? It… amuses me." His tongue darted out of his mouth. "But I feel like we've done this dance before and now it's so boooooring. Boring. Boring. Boring."

He snapped his teeth at their frozen faces and a giggle escaped. Fear had such a distinct scent – sharp and heady, it was intoxicating.

"But," he waved his arms like a conductor, "I've decided that killing you all would be a waste. Of my considerable talent, not your lives."

His audience stirred. Not because of boredom but thinly concealed outrage. That was interesting. Oh he hoped someone would say something. He wanted to slice through skin and see their terror so badly it was a physical ache. His fingers tapped enthusiastically at the very idea of marring someone.

No one spoke. He stomped his foot and pouted but snickered again. Revulsion was beginning to replace the horror. Yes well, not as good as fear but it would do.

"Don't look so glum, Gentleman. You will still grind out your profit the only difference is when I say jump, you jump. Even if it's off a building." He mimed the fall with his hand and ended with a squelching noise. He bared his teeth with the last sound and fixed them with a solemn expression.

"Crazy motherfu-"

The man never got to complete the expletive. Moving with a speed they never expected, Joker had the offender's face slammed hard against the table.

"Now those aren't very," he paused, his tongue snaked out, "complimentary. names."

His words were slow and punctuated. His inflection light still but the malice was overwhelming. He smacked his lips before launching into action.

"This," He beat the man's head against the table for emphasis. "will." Bang. "not." Bang. "be tolerated!"

He wrenched the man backwards onto the ground, where he lay still, his nose shattered into nothing but a bloody pulp. There were new flecks of red on Joker's skin and clothes. His eyes fluttered as the dependable rush of satisfaction flooded his body. It followed every act of violence and he experienced it so often, it was almost a familiar friend.

Joker slumped back into his seat and made a show of sweeping his slick green hair off his face. He waggled a disapproving finger at the unconscious man, tutting in reprimand. He switched his concentration back to the conscious members of the mob.

"Well, that was fun. I hear exercise is good for the soul."

No one dared make another comment. Ah submission. Gave him warm tingles from his toes to his twitching fingertips. His fingers had ceased jiggling for the moment, having found a temporary outlet for his energy.

"Do I have your cooperation?" He knew he did but he wanted to push the humiliation just a bit further. He raised both eyebrows, waiting, as if on the edge of his seat.

One by one they grudgingly inclined their heads. He clapped with sadistic pleasure. "Good. Last time I made the explosive exit but we're going to do things a little differently this time. You go! Go! Vanish! Vamoose!"

There were blank stares so with an eye roll he fired a round from his gun into the ceiling. They scattered like the inconsequential vermin they were.

The room emptied of everyone but his henchmen. Almost everyone. There was a woman reclining in a seat near the back. She had dragged another chair up and insubordinately propping her legs up on it, crossed elegantly at the ankles. She was looking at the ceiling with an expression that was both wistful and bored.

She was dressed in blood red. How had he missed her amongst all the grey and black?

"Excuse me. Did you miss the gunfire? 'Cause that was your marching orders." He didn't rise from his seat. Whose mistress had been left behind? He didn't stand, she wasn't of interest yet.

She brought her head around and brazenly made eye contact. "I'm sorry, have you stopped talking?"

Deliberate, baiting.

Joker's stare narrowed, his emotionless eyes raked over her. This pretty little girl was stupid. It might be worth cutting up her face just a little. But so much effort for such minimal satisfaction? He'd give her one more chance to escape.

"Your bosses have left." He bit his lip and smirked. "You're all alone with little old me." He pretended to preen his jacket and fiddle with his tie in obscene parody of grooming made all the more disgusting by the body fluids he was coated in.

She lifted her legs off the chair and turned to face him fully. "They're not my employers."

"Sugar daddy's then." He faked a bashful wince, "is that not the politically correct term?"

"They've never seen me before in their life." She folded her delicate hands under her chin. She was studying him now and his mood shifted. The first ripple of anger disturbed the calm state of his brain.

The Joker braced his hands on the table, evenly spread. "Oh really?" his henchmen were moving forward and closer to this woman. He discreetly stayed their progress with a finger. If anyone would be dealing with her, it would be him.

"You'd be surprised how no one questions a beautiful woman."

"Modest aren't you? But you are gorgeous." He stressed the last word and panted lewdly. "Is that enough to get you on your back?"

He thought he saw her jaw tighten and she took a deep breath. "I'm not so easily flattered. This is my disguise."

He sized her up like a snake about to strike. He knew his eyes were beginning to look uncertain. The trick was to ask questions with sarcastic tones. No one would notice his growing confusion.

"Disguise?" His voice now high and British. His own henchmen had taken steps backwards, recognising the suddenly present danger. They recognised the signs of approaching instability well enough.

"Not as comprehensive as yours maybe," she waved her hand in his direction and for the first time her haughty attitude broke. The Joker grinned. The make-up and steel capped teeth did tend to unnerve people. And that was to say nothing of the word _Damaged_ etched across his forehead.

"But effective none the less," she finished. "Men are so ready to believe that women are nothing more than their appearance."

"Why're you here, lady?" No embellishments now. This conversation was getting tedious and he wasn't sure why he was having it. He could be causing mayhem.

Joker decided suddenly that he was going to kill her. He wanted to see if her insides matched the colour of her dress. He was already reaching for his gun when she spoke.

"I'm here to meet you of course."

He narrowed his eyes and flicked his tongue. People did not want to meet him, not as a general rule. He wasn't a social kind of guy.

"What's your name?"

She blinked twice and hesitated. Too long. "Cath-"

He slammed his hands on the table. "Real name," he barked.

There was trepidation growing in her eyes and for some reason that he couldn't yet decipher that anxiety made her smile. "Harleen."

"And you want to meet me why, Harleen?" He rolled her name around on his tongue.

"I'm a psychiatrist."

This started a strong wave of laughter. Harleen didn't even flinch.

"So that's why you're here?" He stood up with a flourish and did a little turn. He moved towards her as he spoke. "To fix me? To cure me?"

His voice dropped an octave and he was soon invading her space.

Her cheeks were flushed. "Fix you?" She was now speaking with emotion. "There's nothing to fix in my opinion. I want to observe, that's all."

She was speaking honestly now which was even more puzzling than before.

"You don't think I'm a freak?" he was still in her face. He practically spat out the last word.

She regained her composure. "I wouldn't say that."

He threw himself into the chair Harley's feet had occupied. He grabbed her hand and he felt the initial jerk as she fought her first instinct to recoil.

"Harley, are you a _groupie_?" Purposefully offensive. He was annoyed when she just smirked.

"My proclivities do lean towards … the unconventional but my presence here is purely professional."

Sometime during the conversation he had reached for his knife with his spare hand. He toyed with it, finding it a comfort. She noticed too.

"Is it the tattoos?" he asked suddenly, grabbing her face. His fingertips pressed hard into her cheek, distorting her pretty smile. "Do they scare you? Wanna know what they mean?"

"They don't interest me," Harley dismissed. "Your body doesn't interest me. Your mind, on the other hand, terrifies me. Fascinates me." The last part was whispered.

He stared into her eyes and was startled to realise she was lying to an extent. There was a spark of lust there. The Joker was not used to people looking at him with lust. He never expected it, especially not from such a symmetrical woman. One who apparently was excited by fear?

"You're playing a very dangerous game." He wasn't looking at her as he cautioned her. His eyes had drifted up as they often did when he was thinking and talking.

"I'm playing _your_ game."

He leaned back. Couldn't argue that. "So no chance of some action?" His tongue traced his lips rudely and suggestively. Despite his advances his actual goal was to unsettle her.

She shook her head regretfully. "I have to have complete power over the people I sleep with, lunatic or not. Somehow I don't think that applies here." There was a pause and suddenly, shockingly, she was close to him. "But if I ever do have total dominance of you, I'll give you the ride of your life. Bad teeth and all."

The Joker started cackling. "You're beginning to grow on me. Though you're slightly too proportioned for my tastes."

"Too perfect?"

"Haven't even known each other for an hour and already she's fishing for compliments." It was a sweeping statement directed at his henchmen who obligingly laughed at his little witticism. A couple of seconds too late though. He would have to teach them about cues.

He stood up and did a little skip so he was behind Harley. Breathing down her neck like an over attentive lover. One gloved finger touched the curve where her neck met her shoulder. It was curiously intimate, touching that smooth unblemished skin without invitation. He wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh, maim and mark it.

"Gotham is Rome." She almost stuttered.

"Excuse me?" He cocked his head, like a wolf if its prey started to talk.

"It's all about to come apart at the seams like Rome. The city of Rome burned."

"And I'm Nero?

"No, you're the fire. _I'm_ Nero. And I want front row seats while it all goes up in flames."

"And play the fiddle?"

"Fiddle optional." She was calmer now. She had his attention and inquisitiveness now. If she continued to be entertaining, he'd indulge her for a while longer.

And when she stopped being diverting, well then he would slit Harleen's elegant throat from ear to ear.

"Shame, I like the fiddle."

The Joker pulled away and she released a breath, betraying that some of her poise was fabricated. He sauntered over to lounge on the desk. Displaying himself. He ran a hand mockingly down his body. "Personally I can't see how anyone could resist me." His tone was breathy and high once more. "But I still find myself a little confounded such a classy _psychiatrist_ such as yourself is here."

"Curiosity." She shrugged.

He tapped his cheek, thoughtful. "I recall a story about curiosity and a cat." He wrinkled his nose. "Didn't end well."

"Excellent thing I'm not a cat."

He examined his nails, ignoring her for the moment. "It gets pretty rough out there, sweetheart. Not sure you could handle it."

"I can." She sounded tough and defiant, and it was true enough that she had born his proximity almost unflinchingly.

He flicked his eyes up to her again. Harley's gaze was steady. Maybe she was telling the truth and was just as - what word did she use? Unconventional - was as unconventional as him.

Only one way to find out. He gestured one of his henchmen over who came blindly. He lashed out, with that unsuspected agility and got him in a choke hold.

He brought the knife to his throat.

The Joker held her eyes, unmindful of the man now squirming in his arms. He was insignificant, Harley was the priority.

"I'm going to kill this man." The Jokers tongue darted out, tasting the waxy flavour of the bright red lipstick he'd smeared across his face.

"Why?" Harley asked.

The Joker shrugged. "I don't like him perhaps?" He hoped his palpable lack of a reason would entice a reaction. No luck.

"Go ahead."

The Joker stayed motionless for a moment. Even when he wasn't moving he exuded agitated energy.

"Nothing else to say?"

Her fingers flexed wide before curling into a fist but otherwise her expression remained blank.

"No. Wait, yes! No blood on this dress. It's new." With that statement she moved to a spot far against the wall. She kept watching avidly though.

She nonchalantly waved her hand. "Proceed."

He delayed a second longer, giving her one last chance to cave and speak. Her mouth stayed firmly shut, her lips pressed into a tight line as is softening them even an ounce might force her to intervene. He gave a grunt and drew the knife swiftly across his victim's throat. The Joker held him against him as the body twitched in its dying. This man hadn't been important to him but that was no reason not to savour his passing.

He waited for the rasping, gurgling to end before letting the body fall against the floor. Harley hadn't baulked.

Joker stretched his shoulders in an elaborate display. Acting as if he had done a hard days' work. His boneless fluidity might give the impression he was weak but he had a hidden strength that kept his target in a deadly grip while exerting no extreme effort.

He applauded Harley. Sardonically, holding his hands at arm's length. "Bravo. You passed the first test."

"You'll let me follow you?" Harley winced as soon as she said the words. That was coming on slightly too strong.

"I meant, I'll let you live." He giggled. He had had his fill of this woman, gutsy as she was and mad to boot. He made to leave the room.

…

Unease filled Harley. She'd gotten so close to hooking him only to lose him now.

"Wait! If I can guess one true fact about you let me come on your next heist."

He lifted his eyebrows, intrigued by the challenge. He languidly rolled his head so he was looking at her over his shoulder.

"Maybe." He sounded like a child meanly teasing. The word was slow and enunciated.

"You're a smoker. Were," she corrected. "You were a smoker."

The Joker coughed pointedly. "So? What if I was? Not very insightful. Are you sure you aren't shocked from the death? It disconcerts some people." He was mocking her.

"Smoking means you were addict. That hints at some interesting personality traits. It also means you quit. That one fact gives me plenty of insight into who you might be."

While she had spoken he had stalked up to her, forcing her backwards but not making her stop talking. He seized her jaw hard in his fingers, decisively hurting Harley. The acidic smell of the face paint scorched her nose and made it hard to concentrate.

"Means you were human once," she finished in a rasp, alarmed but determined not to set a precedence in which he had the power. He didn't seem to particularly like that statement. In fact he looked insulted.

He flicked his tongue out and this time he was close enough it touched her cheek. Hot, wet and then gone. She watched all the spark and hilarity leave his eyes, leaving them empty pits of darkness.

For the second time she comprehended just how dangerous was the madness that lurked inside the man. Joker he may be, but it wasn't all fun and games. It also left her weak in the knees. That alone petrified her more than the direct threat on her life. He shouldn't be affecting her this strongly.

His hand was firm and it was holding her at an uncomfortable angle, forcing her onto her toes. He was deceptively tall. Harley reached out to grab his jacket lapel to steady herself. An issue of balance, nothing else. But he stared at her grip as if it were burning his skin.

"Is it true?" Harley was talking. He had forgotten they were having a conversation, lost to a rush of thoughts that Harley could only guess at.

"I was a smoker. Happy?"

"Not excessively."

"You should be." He released her suddenly and she staggered back into her chair. The Joker framed his own face with his hands. "A smile gets you a long way, Harley."

"I prefer Harleen."

"Don't care," he sang back.

"Well then what do I call you? The Joker is a bit of a mouthful."

"Play your cards right, doll and I'll give you a real mouthful." He grabbed his crotch lewdly, his playful mood having obviously returned.

Harley didn't dignify that with a response.

"I might be the funniest but I'm not the _only_ joke in town. Joker will do fine."

"Joker then," Harley echoed.

"Congratulations, you have a job." He danced towards the door. "Don't call me, I'll call you!"

Then he was gone, skipping and snickering as if he'd had the best time in the world.

Harley was left alone in the room. She had survived her first encounter with The Joker.

She slept with the lights on that night.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN** : **apologies, this is going to be another long one but I wanted to answer two guest reviews. 1, yeah Harley in this fic is not like movie Harley yet. By the time we meet Harley in the movie, she's in love/obsessed with Joker. That has her behaving very differently. As previously stated I've not read the comics but from what I know about Harley she's slept with her professors, has changed her accent, is intelligent and has a fascination with the insane so I've combined all these factors into this person who has a carefully crafted image and certain amount of ruthlessness, but with instability and cracks that can be exploited by someone that can see them. I think in terms of character arcs, Harley is the most varied from where it starts to where it ends.**

 **And that brings me to 2, the Joker. This story was first begun back when Nolan's films came out so full disclosure that is a pretty strong influence at least on the plot in the beginning but my concept of the Joker is that at first he's mostly Nolan-ish because I think that film showed us the scarier, darker version of the Joker and then as we get to know him better, as he lets down his defences a bit, we'll see more SS Joker, because I think** _ **that**_ **film showed us the more human elements of the Joker and also a more coherent Joker. He was the one that I could see falling in love/obsession. So a strong combination of the pair, but I really just see it as multi facets of a complex character. Happy to discuss these types of things, but it makes life easier if you've got an account and signed in.**

 **Anyway, please review and let me know what you thought.**

Days went by. And then two weeks. She hadn't heard from him at all and she began to wonder if he really was the rock solid pillar of his word that he claimed.

This confounded her. One thing the Joker could be counted on was doing exactly what he promised.

He was likely just biding his time and Harley forced herself not to obsess. Not to think about the grossly charismatic man any more than necessary.

She stopped keeping the lights on at night, she stopped locking her bathroom door when she showered, and began inviting some of her old lovers around. She resumed her normal life.

She would drive herself mad if she existed on the edge, any moment expecting Joker to arrive. He would contact her when he was ready and if he happened to arrive when she was in the shower, a locked door wouldn't stop him if he wanted to come in.

Harley felt a certain thrill, however, when she filled the bath. This was tempting fate a little. Murphy's Law practically dictated that something would go wrong. She poured a large glass of red wine to further provoke fate.

Harley knew that there was little chance Joker would be so intuitive as to interrupt her bath but she needed these little mental gambles to keep her life interesting. If his absence continued to prioritise her life then she was going to do something drastic, like get a job at Arkham.

The longer this dragged out, the more likely it was the Jonathon would be hauled back to prison and she'd be stuck in her current dull role of lecturing about her Europe research and seeking permanent employment.

Harley didn't anticipate she could rush building rapport with Joker. If she wanted to manipulate him into a position where he would be captured, they needed to establish a relationship and trust. This would take time.

Knowing she wouldn't achieve much by obsessing, Harley slipped into the bath. The water was warm and soothed the tension that built up in her body as she subconsciously waited for the clown. She sipped the wine, enjoying the benefits of a well-paying profession.

She'd had sex last night but it hadn't truly satisfied her. She was too preoccupied. Now the wine and the movement of the water were making her slightly aroused. She thought of Jonathan. The one man she had wanted but hadn't bedded. She suspected he would be an exceptional distraction. At this stage Harley wouldn't mind if either he or Joker showed up, though they'd each satisfy a different itch.

Neither did. Not while she was in the bath.

She didn't know how she knew he was there really. Probably his inability to sit still. Harley let him think she was asleep for a moment longer, ordering her mind.

She felt the bed move under his weight. He probably had some fiendish scheme of getting in, snuggling up and making her wake up to his face. Harley didn't want him enjoying this moment over much.

"I don't usually let strange men share my bed."

He let out a giggle. How had he repressed it for so long?

"You've met me before," he said sounding delighted.

"I didn't mean unfamiliar. I just meant strange."

He bounced up and down on the bed. "Get up. Get up. Get up!"

He sounded merry and carefree but Harley knew if she didn't comply he'd probably persuade her with more hostile means.

He darted to her closet and rifled unceremoniously through its contents, cackling while he went. He held dresses up against himself before tossing them cavalierly on the ground behind him, muttering to himself the whole time. Harley wrongly assumed he would pick out her outfit but when he grew bored and left the room her clothes remained scattered on the floor. She scooped up a simple black dress from the ground.

She dressed while she walked, suspecting he wouldn't be tolerant of any extensive grooming rituals. Harley looked at the clock as she went, her blonde hair dishevelled around her shoulders. 5 am. This job would be more trying than she had expected. Oh well, madness waited for no man.

Harley followed him right out the door and into the elevator, only just remembering to grab her keys as she passed. She found herself in a pastel box playing inane music with Joker. His arm was brushing hers in what was a clear display of dominance. He didn't have to be that close but for physical intimidation he'd made the effort.

Joker had his hands clasped behind his back, rocking exaggeratedly from ball of the foot to heel. His mouth moving the whole time though he was silent.

His jerky twitching was only embellished by his clothes. His formal wear was impeccable, aside from an undone, purple bowtie which hung loosely around his neck, and tailored to his body. For a lunatic he expended a lot of mental energy on his wardrobe.

Joker cut his eyes to Harley and smirked, fully aware that she had been scrutinising him. Harley blushed, furious that she had been so conspicuous and feeling as guilty as if she had been caught watching porn.

She was also frustrated that she had wasted precious minutes where she had Joker to herself.

"Why green and purple?" Harley was relieved she had spent time thinking of innocuous question to begin their professional relationship.

"It brings out the colour in my eyes," he fluttered his eyelashes and snickered feverishly.

"I don't think you're that whimsical." Harley brushed her hand lightly against the jacket. "You usually have a point."

The Joker eyes dropped swiftly to where her hand briefly rested but quickly returned his gaze to Harley. She was stoutly staring at the wall, pretending not to notice that this was the second time he had reacted strongly to her touch.

"Green because of the sickness in society, an homage if you will, and purple because it reminds me of dusk."

"Dusk?"

"The harbinger of the night!"

"That was cohesive and symbolic. Very nice." Harley had crossed her arms.

"Yeah, I'm deep." He was outrageously flirtatious.

"It's not true, is it?"

Joker shrugged. "No but it sounded good right? Did it impress you, beautiful?" He leered at her and loomed closer.

She held up a delicate hand. "Don't."

"Oh yeah. You don't like compliments. Compliments are tedious," His high rasping voice returned. "But you know what? This…" he gestured in her direction and struggled for the ideal word. Failing he repeated himself. "This takes work. To be _that_ constructed! So methinks you actually enjoy the attention."

He made a round 'oh' with his mouth and widened his eyes in fake shock, not attempting to shield the glinting mockery.

Harley opened her mouth to retort but Joker held up a finger and waggled it under her nose. "Un uh. The lady doth protest too much."

"Just don't call me beautiful." She knew why she needed to be attractive. If Joker chose to believe she was truly an attention whore so be it. Harley inhaled and counted to five - she was normally so much better at controlling herself but something about Joker had her already running on her high even before he started taunting.

"If you want, Princess."

The elevator doors slid open. The first thing Harley noticed was a doorman she had never seen before standing behind the desk. The second thing was the pair of feet sticking out on the ground. That and the blood.

"You killed the doorman," Harley observed mildly, answering the question that had been subconsciously flittering around in the back of her mind: How had Joker gotten into her apartment?

The Joker kicked the immobile foot joyfully. "The new guy comes with the highest recommendations."

The 'new guy' was staring vacantly at a wall. Joker leaned over and blew in his ear. When that failed to entice a reaction Joker slapped him hard. His face remained blank.

This pleased Joker immensely and giggling he jerked his thumb at the guy. "You just can't find help like this these days."

He used the palms of his hands to flick the door open, dancing out into the dull morning light. Arms thrust outwards, welcoming and embracing the day. At his appearance the white van at the curb opened the sliding door.

Harley thought the empty streets were a testimony to the complete lack of morning culture in the rich suburbs of Gotham. No way would a van like this have gone unnoticed long in peak hour.

"Your chariot, Princess." Joker, who had apparently settled on the condescending nickname, motioned towards the van.

Harley considered not getting in, running a hand over her costly dress and looking at the dirty van, but decided against it.

Harley edged forward and was equal with The Joker, one foot in the vehicle, when he spoke again.

"This is nothing personal." And he clubbed her hard in the back of the head.

He caught her with a grunt as she slumped before he quickly handed her off to his masked, clown henchman. The Joker shook his hands, looking revolted and uncomfortable.

"I hope she has the decency to at least bleed a little," he murmured cruelly before throwing himself in and slamming the door behind him.

…

Harley blinked once, twice, slowly. The floor was pitching underneath her and she didn't know whether it was actually moving or simply the roiling in her head.

It was hot and the air was an effort to breath in, stuffy and stagnant. She couldn't adjust her gaze, her vision was hazy and doubled. Her heart was thudding in her chest as she struggled to remember what had happened and fought the oncoming panic.

Harley forced herself to sit up but a hand, rough but not malicious, pushed her back.

"Easy there, lamb chop. We're not there yet." The't' was popped sharply across his lips and the noise echoed in her mind, triggering her memories. The Joker.

She had been climbing into the van and then there was a sharp pain. After that, a black out.

She screwed her eyes up. The blurs were hurting her head even more. But mostly so he couldn't see the fear and confusion.

At least the rattling and shaking was explained. They were obviously still in the van heading… somewhere?

"Time?" she finally rasped. She had to swallow twice to get the question past her lips.

"'Bout noon."

"We've been driving for hours?" Harley demanded. It lacked intimidation as she was lying on her back in the middle of a van. She risked moving to lay her hand across her forehead. Harley was attempting to hold her head together as it might just explode any moment.

"Well," Joker began, "We went to HQ, which, you know, you can't see yet because I don't _trust_ you. Now we're on the road again."

"To where?" Harley struggling to keep her eyes open, she suspected she might have a concussion. She was clinging to his voice to keep her coherent. Thankfully Joker's voice could hardly be described as easy to ignore.

"Oh you'll see." He giggled. "Soon you'll see for yourself." As if the van was dictated by his words, it shuddered to a stop.

"Lunch time!" He announced enthusiastically.

At his tone of complete anticipation and excitement Harley was relieved. He had something big lined up. She hadn't been hit on the back of the head for no reason at least.

"You all know what to do." He was talking to his henchmen. Harley thought they knew what would happen if they made a mistake.

Many things happened at once. The door slid open and the harsh midday sun burned into her skull. She was also seized just above the elbow and pulled unceremoniously up.

Joker had her against him, out of the way of the chaotic stamping of henchmen's feet. The jerking made the pain in her head burst in a disarray of colours and white noise. She threw up at his feet.

He stared at the mess before whipping his head around, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "So glad you could come along for the ride, Princess. I do hope you enjoy the show."

Then they were out into the sunshine too. Harley in one hand and a huge gun in the other. Harley dimly registered screaming. They were in a car park.

It was only The Joker's firm grip that kept her upright as he strode towards a door. He fired random shots off into cars and maybe passers-by. Then the door was opening and they were into blessed cool. The Joker pulled out a chair, thrust her into it and all without breaking his gait.

Harley looked around. They were in a chain restaurant. A cheesy themed one from the middle ages or the Stone Age. Either way they were surrounded by a lot of rock and no windows.

The henchman had secured the room, the fire exit doors and the people mostly by pointing guns in specific directions. Predominately at heads.

Joker didn't say anything at first. His erratic movements were enough to captivate everyone's attention. The silence was weighted and heavy. He leaned against the counter and studied the menu slowly.

"What's good here?" He finally asked the girl behind the counter. She looked around fifteen and terrified. She automatically shied away when he spoke to her. The Joker's hand snaked out and grabbed her ridiculous apron, dragging her closer.

"The teeth? Wanna know how I got them?"

The girl struggled and let out a little squeak of unadulterated fear. This wasn't alleviated when he brought the knife up. He didn't cut her but smoothly stroked the soft skin of her cheek.

"I had an aunt. Used to look after me when I was a kid when my parents went out. She was a big ugly woman, liked the sauce. Now one night her boyfriend came round. They got in a huge fight. Huge," He widened his eyes as if to indicate how large. "He dumps her after beating on her, hitting her a bunch of times in the mouth. Probably because she can't take a joke. She doesn't like that. Oh no not…not at all. So she sees me sitting there, all helpless and innocent."

His tongue flicked out. His tone dropped an octave, his eyes crazed as he worked himself towards the climax. Harley leaned forward completely enthralled.

"So she starts muttering, coming towards me the whole time, fists all clenched up. 'Can't take a joke?'" he mimed a high falsetto. "'I'll show him who can't take a joke.' Her teeth are nearly all gone by this point. 'What about you?' she asks me, bleeding like a beast. 'Show me your pretty smile!'"

He let the quiet drag for a minute. They all knew how this story ended. They could see.

"Now you know…. Want a demonstration?" He squeezed her face with a renewed vigour and tears coursed down her cheeks.

He let her go suddenly and she staggered back. "Not today." His voice had resumed its cheery, reedy quality.

There were sirens now. Growing louder with every passing second. He jerked his head towards the door and two henchman went to guard it.

"Cops," they called back. Harley's pulse pounded harder. Maybe he would be captured and Jonathon would be freed without any further effort on her part.

Joker jumped up and down excitedly. "Goody. It's a play date!"

Harley watched him riveted. The ache was still there behind her temples and her mouth was parched but the world was now in sharper focus. She was absorbed by the story. Complete lies of course but intrigued nonetheless. Not for the first time did she consider how much easier her job would be if she knew his background.

He was now stalking back and forward, barely containing himself. Joker was waiting for something. He kept flicking his pocket watch out, checking the time and slipping it back in. Outside there were a medley of noises; cars, sirens, shouting.

The Joker froze misstep, closed his eyes and raised his hand, feeling the air.

He opened his eyes, made a point with his fingers and said, simply, "now."

On cue the restaurant phone began to ring. One of the henchmen hurried forward with a phone.

The Joker pressed it against his ear.

"Hellooooo commissioner."

He paused for the commissioner to answer and chuckled. "Now, now. There's no need for language like that amongst friends."

The commissioner resumed talking and there was silence in the room, punctuated only by Joker's occasional "hmm" or "erm" or giggling.

Harley found herself wondering, like most others in the room what might happen. She was sure this was all part of Joker's grand scheme but she couldn't see how it all connected. One thing was for certain – Harley didn't like being on the back foot. She was completely at his mercy and if she didn't do something to assert herself, he would control every aspect of their interaction going forward.

"This is how it is. I have a group of people who don't eat, drink or leave until I see The Batman. And for every two hours he isn't here, somebody will die. See if they don't."

…

The Joker snapped the phone shut and released his raspy laugh.

He swung his eyes around. Good. Absolute terror. Lovely, _lovely_ day.

It was satisfying to have them so subordinate. He had two hours to play with their heads. Two whole delightfully, destructive hours. He knew Batman wouldn't come until dark. Batman never showed his masked face unless it was night time.

He stretched his arms and cracked his neck. He had to be limber before terrorising. Wouldn't want to pull something. He wished Frost could be here for this job as his obsessive compulsive need for organisation provided the right balance to his chaotic approach. They always did say opposites attract. But he was following up some loose ends with the mob and setting up _Smile and Grin_.

He opened his mouth but Joker was distracted. Harley was rising shakily to her feet.

"Yes, princess?"

"Water," she mumbled. She was unsteady on her feet, not that it did much to stir his sympathies. Who wore high heels on a heist?

"Little more clearly please," he barked in her direction.

"I need a glass of water!"

The Joker scoffed. She met his gaze forcefully. Maybe hitting her in the head beat some backbone into her.

"Did you miss my little dialogue? Nobody drinks, including us."

Harley took a few more steps forward, looking oddly out of place in her expensive dress. The Joker wondered if she was going to hit him. He'd quite enjoy that.

She moved straight past him and pulled a bottle of water from a cooler fridge behind the counter. The staff member he'd grabbed before inched away from Harley as if she was just as dangerous as him. In a matter of speaking, she was. If she followed this course of action someone was going to die.

She deliberately, boldly cracked the lid open.

The Joker narrowed his eyes. Was the stupid, pretty girl actually going to defy him in front of his employees and hostages?

She lifted the bottle to her lips. The hostages kept their gaze down. They all thought they knew how this would end.

"Stop," he hissed.

"Make me," she challenged calmly. She took a large mouthful of water.

Within seconds he had his arm snaked around her neck, clamping her in a choke hold.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low, his eyes darting back and forth. Her hands came up to close around his wrist.

"Let's make one thing clear," she continued in a quiet voice, so only he could hear. "I'm here by choice. I'm not a detainee or one of you thugs. If I want a drink I am damn well going to have one."

The Joker nodded as if thoughtfully considering it all before baring his teeth in a snarl. "Take one more sip and I'll make you _bleed_."

Harley was scared, he could tell but with barely a tremor in her hands she took another minute sip.

He had the knife out against her cheek before she could swallow. He didn't quite understand the intensity of his feelings at the thought of cutting her up. It was overwhelming, the like of which he hadn't felt for so long.

"Leave her alone!" A single voice rang out.

Harley looked horrified. Joker was ecstatic. Had a hostage really spoken out against him?

"So, you want to be a hero?" Joker didn't loosen his grip on Harley but peered at the man, who suddenly appeared to be doubting his decision to interject.

"Come on man. She's sick. She needs the water."

"Why are defending her? Is it because she's hot? Because you want to have your wicked way with her?"

The hostage couldn't think of anything to say. His eyes flicked to Harley who gave a tiny shake of her head. Joker tightened his hold around her neck so she gasped and couldn't move.

Joker wasn't done. "I didn't see you saying anything when I threatened the little Miss over there. Probably because you couldn't sleep with her. I mean you could, but jailbait am I right?" He made a disgusted sound. "Guys will do anything for a piece of tail. Let's see if you still want to help when she's all marked up."

He drew the knife, controlled and slow, down Harley's cheek. She inhaled and fisted her hands in his suit jacket. Her eyes fluttered closed.

He brought his lips close to her ear, like a lover. "That's what happens if you disobey me."

She opened her eyes and surveyed him, all heavy breathing and bitten lower lips. She didn't look scared or in pain. In fact she looked stimulated.

"That won't scar," she whispered hoarsely, catching him off guard. Harley shoved him away hard and took another gulp of water. She swayed back to her seat, a vision of confidence and sensuality, seemingly oblivious to the blood sliding down her face.

The Joker watched her go. Why hadn't he cut her deeper? He still could if he wanted to but he just watched her walk.

One of the hostages, a young boy started breathing heavily. Hyperventilating even.

"What now?" The Joker groaned, furious at the distraction and relieved at the same time. He didn't like the curve balls Harley kept throwing.

"My son," a woman stuttered. "He has bad asthma. His medication is in the car." Her voice was shaking on the edge of hysteria.

"Please," she forced out, begging.

Joker giggled, ignoring the pleading woman. He gestured for the phone.

"Commissioner. Just thought you should know the time limit has been upped. We have a very sick little boy."

…

Commissioner Gordon tried to wrap his mind about what he was happening.

Initially The Joker had simply wanted Batman on location. He hadn't really questioned this. It made sense as The Joker had made no secret about the fact he loved his little encounters with the masked crusader.

The only complication? He was officially 'hunting' Batman. He was still a fugitive for what he had done to Dent or, at least, what the public assumed he had done.

"Are you trying to tell me there is an ill child?" Gordon finally managed to ask.

"Yeah, he's supposed to stop breathing. Which I've seen before so it's kind of dull." The Joker didn't sound particularly concerned by this. The fiend on the phone couldn't stop cackling. It made Gordon sick to his stomach. He also didn't know whether to trust what The Joker was saying.

"How do I know if you are telling the truth?" Gordon couldn't help but ask.

There was a pause and Gordon instantly regretted asking.

"If you could hear the mother complaining and begging you would believe me. She's so _loud_." The Jokers control was fraying, coming apart as his childish voice slipped into lower tones.

"Shut up." He growled to someone on the other of the receiver.

Gordon could hear the woman on the other side of the phone. He gestured at his men to get slightly closer to get a better visual. He wanted to storm the place guns blazing but The Joker was unpredictable and if he did that, it was more likely everyone would end up dead than saved.

There was single gunshot and more silence. Gordon's heart was in his mouth.

"Glad that's over. It was getting boooooring. Oh and sorry for not waiting two hours." The Joker's voice was composed again.

"You bastard. You bastard." That was all Gordon could say.

"Yehah. Regardless, how 'bout you give me a call when The Batman arrives." There was a final frenzied laugh and he hung up.

Gordon clenched his jaw. "I don't care how you do it; get Batman here as soon as possible."

…

Harley stared at the dead, bleeding woman. The Joker had said from the very first phone call that people were going to die. She was just relieved it wasn't her. The look in his eyes as she had challenged him had been chilling. His intensity had made her heart pound and for the first time, Harley let herself wonder what he'd be like in bed. Fatal probably.

The young boy seemed in no immediate danger, just a little frightened. If only his mother had waited until things were desperate she might still be alive.

Batman would be here soon surely. Joker seemed wholly focused on his plans. He may be insane but he was devout.

He was snapping orders at his men, herding hostages in directions, sporadically clapping his hands and sniggering. He was in full swing madness and having a ball.

There were wires and barrels of gasoline being attached to certain hostages. Others were being taken to be hidden in one of the storage rooms. Harley assumed Joker would explain the plan in detail eventually. Or not. But asking questions wouldn't help. After her stunt with the water, she didn't want to push him again too soon.

When his phone rang he let out a whoop. Harley almost smiled. She hadn't seen this much uncontained happiness since she was a child at Christmas before she'd realised that most kids didn't get a lock pick as a gift.

"Good afternoon, dear friend…. Now that's not very polite. Here's what I want." The Joker had his knife in his hand. It seemed to keep him focused. "You have to make a choice. If you come in the door you'll blow up the hostages but I'll give myself up. Or you let us all go and I live to fight another day. To kill another day." He tapped his knife to accentuate his words.

Harley narrowed her eyes. There was more to it than this. Batman was smart enough to figure out how to get into the building without triggering the explosives. The Joker understood this better than anyone. In his mind Batman was the closest thing he had to a kindred spirit.

…

The Joker widened his eyes at something Batman said and clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle the giggles. "Well I'll leave you to mull it over." He hung up. He walked past each hostage and showered them with his standard joker cards, mumbling under his breath.

He slid into the seat opposite Harley fluidly. He slammed his hands hard on the table.

"Penny for your thoughts?" His tongue flicked out as he tried to gauge what was going on behind her blank face.

"Was shooting the woman part of the plan?"

"No but I _love_ to improvise." He rolled his head around, stretching his neck.

"Fair enough. And you are aware that Batman will of course find an option C to get in?"

"Of course. I'm counting on it." He furrowed his brow and looked offended. "Ye of little faith."

Harley just raised a delicate eyebrow and cast her gaze towards the door. He could see her wondering if she was going to get blown up too and oddly enough she wasn't panicked. One day he'd find something to really alarm her.

The Joker took this moment of distraction to scrutinise her. She was still pretty but far more dishevelled now. Her lovely bone structure was undermined by her pallid complexion, dark circles had appeared under her blue eyes from the concussion.

Topped off by the line of blood that had travelled all the way down her neck and was now pooling at the top of her breasts.

It was drying but he had a perverse desire to lick it off.

And with disgust he realised that at that moment her wanted her in the most animalistic way. He wanted to hold her down and make her gasp, hell, make her _scream,_ as he was deep inside.

Strange. He had seen her at her most radiant and been unmoved but add a splash of blood and suddenly he was turned on.

Joker also knew he never could because he suspected that while he was inside her, she'd be getting inside his head. No, he would tolerate her till they both grew tired of this little experiment or until one of them died. But he wouldn't claim her that way.

He was interrupted when Harley returned her attention to him.

"Penny for _your_ thoughts?" She inquired.

He slapped her hard across the face. "You ask too many questions," he scolded before dancing away.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: hey all, I have to confess I was a little disappointed by the lack of response to the last chapter but big thanks to the few people who took the time to review. It would really make my day if you like this chapter, you could drop me a line! In other news, I'm recovering from a cold so forgive any typos that snuck through.**

Harley's cheek stung. The Joker had slapped her hard across the face right where he had sliced her. It had been a shallow cut but now it was stinging and burning. She spared a thought for the possibility of infection and dismissed it quickly. Septicity could be taken care of. Being blown into a thousand tiny pieces would be slightly more problematic and therefore more worthy of concern.

Despite being drawn to the darkness she wasn't a fatalist by any stretch of the imagination. Harley enjoyed her life thoroughly. Contrarily, Joker seemed to believe that death was a suitable price to pay for his anarchy.

Harley shook her head. Her thoughts were finally clearing, the pain from the first blow fading to a distant, manageable ebb. She had to focus on Joker. Despite him lashing out at her, Harley's intention to engage with him was undiminished.

She held to a very simple philosophy on life. Humans were animals. They were territorial, aggressive and driven by primitive urges that played second to their morals. Survival instincts dominated everything they did.

Harley had lived largely based on this idea, especially during her youth. Her parents had fought to keep her separated from the crime that had thrived around her; she'd gone to school, practised gymnastics, had grown up. But despite their efforts, Harley knew that life meant fighting to get your share. Money had since allowed her to forgo, to a degree, existing purely in survival mode and indulge in the more tempting parts of life. Still, at the heart of it, the same rubrics governed more or less everyone, even the truly good people of the world.

Take Commissioner Gordon, Harley knew he had a breaking point. She didn't know what exactly but it was there. Maybe if his children were threatened, he'd kill. Protection of the species and his own genetic line would win out over any moral code to protect the sanctity of life. He would say it was influenced by love but dress it up anyway you like, Commissioner Gordon would still have killed.

Of course there were exceptions to every rule. Harley's mind went to Batman. Iron clad in his decision not to kill anyone with his own hands. He hadn't even murdered Joker after he captured him when surely that was the most sensible, kind thing to do for society. Harley gingerly touched her cheek and winced – maybe it would have even protected her from her own questionable decision making.

Batman had such ridiculous faith in a justice system that was blatantly corrupted. This was either foolishness or conviction. Whatever it was, it was enduring. Gotham was an apple rotting from the inside out and only a few individuals were committed enough to keep that decay from crumbling the entire city.

Joker was another example – the opposite side of a coin. Sliding through life causing havoc; on the surface seemingly untouched by basic needs or desires. A fascinating labyrinth of a mind and a healthy dose of illness had combined to produce the symbol pacing in front of her. Making a mockery of every preconception of appropriate human behaviour.

The Joker was aware of her watching but he didn't let her scrutiny distract him. Harley knew that her continued accompaniment, her continued existence, relied on his volatile moods and the outcome of whatever game he chose. Harley quite liked to gamble and she didn't mind his attempts to burrow into her mind and determine what made her tick.

It was when Joker got bored that she was in serious trouble.

There were strange noises coming from the roof. The henchmen cast their gaze upwards, the masks concealing any fear they may have felt. It sounded like Batman had found an alternate entrance. When you had that much innovative technology at your fingertips, coming in through the roof was hardly an obstacle.

Joker checked his pocket watch and fixed his jacket. "Longer than I expected," he murmured to himself. Then he threw himself into a flurry of activity. Shouting instructions at the henchmen, clicking and pointing to illustrate. He seized Harley into a choke hold and held a knife to her throat, putting them both between the hostages tied to gasoline and the door to the car park.

"What's happening?" Harley asked, impressed that her voice only wavered a little bit. She thought it was about time she got let into the plan.

"Batman has a weakness for beautiful girls," he giggled and twitched. She couldn't see him but she could feel the way his over-bright eyes were boring into the back of her head. "Don't mind being type cast, do ya doll?"

One of The Jokers henchmen came sailing across the room and Harley gasped despite herself, heart pounding in her chest. As entrances went Batman's were pretty spectacular. Jokers grip tightened in eagerness, his whole body thrumming with excitement.

Harley had to admit she was harbouring a certain amount of exhilaration. The Batman and Joker in one room. The combination was like fireworks – she only wished she wasn't standing in the middle.

Batman managed to appear in front of them as if by my magic. He was taller than she'd expected, filling the space dramatically. As she stepped back, Joker leaned forward as if Batman was a magnet he was helplessly drawn towards.

"Let her go," Batman rasped in his deep, grating voice. He wasted no time with pleasantries.

"I don't wanna. I want to keep her. I like her," Joker pouted. He clutched at her like a toddler with a toy; disinterested until someone else wanted to play with it.

"Did you really think I would kill all these innocent people?"

The Joker sniggered. "Not really. Though I'm offended you don't think I'm worth it." He jiggled a knife against Harley's throat. Her blood was already on the blade.

"How about I kill this innocent girl? It won't be quite as good as killing all these little sheep but it would go some way to salving the hurt of your rejection."

Harley's mind was turning furiously as she tried to assess the exact nature of Joker's relationship with Batman. He talked like he was both a disappointing parent and a traitorous lover. She was so consumed with her thoughts that she almost missed her cue. Even without him telling her, Harley knew this was her little test of the evening. The Joker needed her to act a certain way, play her part in the theatrics. She obliged with a very convincing struggle. She enjoyed it a bit too much, digging an elbow into his ribs. Revenge for the cut on her cheek which had now turned an angry red.

"Shh shh shh," he murmured to Harley, stroking her hair almost tenderly. She supposed she had acted well. It was easy enough to do since she genuinely wanted to be out of his clutches. Too often he was finding ways to exert control over her that she was uncomfortable with.

"Stop," Batman growled. Joker jerked his attention back to Batman.

"I knew you wouldn't kill them and I knew you wouldn't let me go. In fact I was banking on it. I thought I'd take this, uh, this opportunity to make a little point. Draw attention to a few short comings."

Batman took a threatening step forward. The Joker waved the knife viciously, reminding him that someone's life was in his hands. Batman paused.

"I want you to know what the difference between you and me is. Do you know?"

"Everything?"

"Ha!" The Joker burst into laughter. "No, no, no." He smacked his lips. "No!" He pointed the knife at Batman. "The one difference between me and you, is I've… already made the choice people like us have to make. I was decisive. None of this… teetering on the edge… and every time you refused to make the choice more people will die."

There was deadly hatred in Batman's eyes. No mask disguised that.

"People are dying because you are crazy."

Harley felt Joker tense against her back. "No!" he snapped, with none of the childlike whimsy of before. He really didn't like that. He composed himself. "Thankfully I'm here to make the decision easy for you. One more incentive to hurry up and grow a pair."

Joker took a large step back pulling Harley with him, causing her to stumble in her heels. "I had no intention of you opening the door. I planned on doing it for you. Only sensible way to live is without rules if you ask me."

He laughed hysterically. Batman made to leap after him, shouting all the while, but joke was one step ahead. Joker had the door open, Harley squeezed her eyes shut preparing for the worst and cursing her own stupidity. There was a loud explosion that stole all other sound from the air. She could barely see, cocooned in her deaf, blindness.

Harley's heart was thudding, there was a ringing in her ears and the thundering continued. In the hurricane of chaos and disaster, Joker was the only solid thing. Harley clutched him, fingers clutching his clothes, needing him to get her out alive. He could just as easily save himself and abandon her but his grip around her waist was firm.

He seemed to know where he was going even through the dust and flying chunks of cement and what she prayed wasn't bits of people. Harley expected bullets at any minute from the police and when they didn't come she was baffled. Even though they couldn't see Joker, surely they would take a risk and fire instinctively into the pandemonium.

The van materialised in front of them and he was shoving her into the passenger seat. Frantically he took the wheel and revved the engine. Harley was shoved back against the seat as he took off at speed. It would be just her luck to survive an explosion and die in a traffic accident. The disorientation didn't begin to fade until he had been driving for about ten minutes, his eyes constantly darting to the mirror to ascertain whether they were being followed.

"That was the master plan?"

A possessed smile crossed his face. "Yehah!"

"And the cops?"

"Rigged the explosives right under where they set up the perimeter."

Harley shook her head in unbidden awe. The planning that must have been involved was immense. Her hands were trembling but not from fear, her body caught in the throes of an adrenaline rush. He was mad but at the moment she felt just as crazy. She could barely control the grin spreading across her face as it dawned on her that she'd actually survived.

"You're amazing," she decreed, the heady rush still preventing her from thinking clearly. Harley instantly regretted it. It was giving too much away too soon.

"But your henchmen probably died," Harley observed in a more even tone.

He shrugged. "I can get more."

Joker skidded to a halt outside her apartment, swinging his head round to look at her. "Harley," his voice sounded as normal as it was ever going to get, his eyes serious in his white face. "I had a really great time tonight. Can I call you?"

His imitation was straight out of a corny teen movie and before she knew if a laugh bubbled out of her throat. She must really be punch drunk on the thrill of it all.

"So can I come along next time?"

The Joker slicked back his hair with two hands and contemplated the question. "I'll think about it."

She would get no more out of him than that so she gracefully got out of the van. Harley walked toward her apartment. People on the street turned to stare at her dishevelled state but she ignored them. She purposefully did not allow herself even one backward glance. It wouldn't have mattered, he squealed off without even shutting the door.

She walked past the doorman and conceded the advantages of the new man. He stared straight ahead, not registering her dirty clothes, bloody visage and sunken eyes.

Harley threw open the door to her apartment and sighed in exhaustion then stopped short. She was confronted with Jonathan's back. He was staring pensively out of the window and Harley was struck by the contrasts between him and Joker. His suit was immaculate, his hair clean and pristine, his icy blue eyes hidden behind glasses.

He turned in her direction, hearing her entrance. His only reaction to her chaotic appearance was a slight widening of the eyes. It was so painfully controlled and careful compared to the exaggerated movements of Joker. She grinned broadly at him. Everything was so alien after just a few hours in the madman's company.

The smile inspired a more obvious reaction from him. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It was amazing how they were having a whole conversation and neither one of them was talking.

"What are you doing here, Jonathan?" Harley finally broke the silence. His presence was unexpected and, while not entirely unwelcome, she wanted nothing more than a shower and perhaps a few hours of sleep.

"I came by to discuss things and when you weren't here I invited myself to wait."

She saw he had poured himself a glass of scotch. Jonathan truly had made himself at home.

"You came to drink my liquor," Harley accused without venom.

"I also watched some TV and saw The Joker was the primetime star. They mentioned a beautiful female hostage. I knew it was you." He smirked but it was contemptuous. "Isn't ours a remarkable society that even amidst the chaos and death they took the time to note you were pretty?"

"You didn't know how long I would be. You could have left and come back?" Harley suggested wearily, not rising to his bait about her appearance. Any other day she might have told him where to shove it, but she was too tired to fight right now.

"I wanted to make sure you made it out alive."

Harley picked up his glass and took a tiny sip. "Mhmm. And the real reason?"

"Your TV is so much nicer and you have better scotch." Jonathan took the glass back and his fingers brushed hers. The contact felt electric and for a second she didn't dare breath. Her fatigue tumbled away with the sensation of his skin against hers.

They made eye contact briefly and Harley saw that despite his barbed words, he'd actually been worried about her. It did nothing to calm her racing pulse. He put the glass down and took her chin gently in his hand. Jonathan tilted her head slightly to the side and she winced as his thumb brushed her cut. She had always thought Jonathan was tall, mainly because of the intensity of his presence but now she realised with detachment he was just barely taller than her. Certainly not taller than Joker.

"Let me take care of that." He took Harley's hand and led her to the bathroom. She perched on the edge of the bathtub while he rifled through her medicine cabinet. He brought out some antiseptic and tissues. Harley deliberately avoided meeting his gaze while Jonathan professionally and efficiently began cleaning her face.

He was close enough she could feel his breath on her skin. Harley also noted how nice and inviting he smelt. She could just imagine what a sight she was right now in comparison. It made her appreciate Jonathan's cleanliness all the more.

"So did you have fun?"

"So much fun." She was only half being sarcastic. Who knew explosions were that entertaining.

"You sound like a school girl who went on her first date." Anyone else would find it odd that she was soiled, bleeding but still happy. Not Jonathan.

"Nothing so dramatic," Harley retorted.

"You like him don't you," Jonathan murmured, still focused on tending the small laceration on her skin. Anyone who didn't know him as well as Harley would have entirely missed the accusation in his tone.

"Infatuated to a certain degree," Harley confessed. Jonathon didn't have all her secrets but she could tell him things that she'd have to lie about to anyone else. It was one of the perks of their unusual friendship.

"That's the same thing."

"Jealous?"

He looked up, his icy eyes neutral but still managing to make her stomach turn over. "Never."

Jonathan started cleaning her neck.

"He's fascinating, Jonathan. Like nothing we've ever seen. Not even in our most extreme patients."

Jonathan nodded, concentrating on his work and absorbing her words. "Have you formed a diagnosis?"

"Not yet. I'm not even sure I could, it's such a bizarre combination. He's sadistic, psychotic and a masochist. I thought split personality but his planning doesn't allow for any long periods of blacking out."

"Gollum complex?"

"Pardon?"

"Split personality but in the vein of Gollum from the Lord of the Rings. The personality manifests itself into two aspects. One the vicious, calculating evil leader and the other the childlike mischievous enforcer. Both sides are aware of the other, existing simultaneously and cooperating."

"New thesis?"

"I had some free time."

Harley resisted the urge to mock him for his ridiculous choice of names and considered it. "It's possible."

"But not all encompassing of The Jokers problems." There was a brief lull in the conversation.

"So Jonathan, to what do I owe actually the pleasure? I am assuming it's not just a social visit to see me."

"Harley, this isn't like you at all. Normally you assume everything's about you?"

Harley made a face. Jonathan brought out the petty side of her.

"Fine, it wasn't _all_ about you. You know how I like to supplement my income with a little illegal work?"

"A little?" She tilted her head warily, wondering what he was planning.

He continued like she had never spoken. "I have a collector with an intense interest in rare artworks and it just so happens Gotham is getting, on loan, a collection from Britain. It isn't the kind of subtle sneaky job that I'm so good at."

"More of the brazen, guns a blazing, show down The Joker does?"

"Exactly."

Harley bit her lip and weighed up saying anything. Jonathon was an adult but of the pair of them he was the most reckless and ostentatious. He had only tentatively earned his freedom and even that was a loan until the final payment.

"If you get caught, they'll put you back away."

"Would you miss me, Harleen?" he asked with obnoxious bravado.

She must have been more tired than she knew because she answered honestly. "Yes."

Her response took him by surprise and whatever snarky retort he been planning was silence. "I'm not a fool," he assured her quietly. "But when you pull this off, I won't be able to work again and I'll need some kind of financial support to tide me over while I figure out what to do next."

"You said 'when' not 'if'."

"I have complete faith in your abilities." He reached up and cupped her uninjured cheek fleetingly. That unanticipated moment of tenderness combined with the flattery eroded any other objections she might have raised.

Harley shrugged, fighting not to let him see how he affected her. "I'll see what I can do. Now help me stand so I can get in the shower."

He smoothly assisted Harley to stand and slid the zip of her dress down for her. "Want help in there?"

"Not today," and she pushed him out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter. If you like this one, please leave a comment, it makes my day!**

The Joker's sleep patterns were disruptive and inconsistence at the best of times. He never scheduled time to sleep; he just kept going and going until his body collapsed.

He had a safe place to sleep, thanks to Frost. The same man kept it from falling into complete disarray but Joker didn't much give a damn about the cleanliness as opposed to the safety of it. It could be a hovel for all he cared. Somehow he always managed to drag himself back there before his body gave out completely.

He always dreamed. His nights were filled with chaotic shards and fragmented images compiled from the jigsaw puzzle that was his day. Never any coherent concepts, just flashes of colour and snippets of songs.

Orange tended to feature predominately and he had no idea why. Just psychedelic blasts of neon orange against a silent black background. Sometimes the silence was permeated by lyrics. Lately it had been some morose wanker whose song was doing the rounds regularly on the radio. Those songs all sounded the same to him. Disjointed poets lamenting to folksy bass lines about disadvantage when he knew that in reality they probably scratched themselves with fingers laden with diamonds. Money, money, money… must be funny in a rich man's world.

Those walking Swedish disco balls had gotten one thing right. Money was funny. Money was hilarious. Just not to a rich man. The wealthy took their funds far too seriously.

The Joker's dreams were different that night. They were comprehensive. They were from his past.

He didn't remember how old he was exactly or the circumstances but his mother had put on a CD. He remembered she had explained that is was a soundtrack to a musical about Jesus Christ.

At that point he had no awareness of the Christian messiah. Who was this Jesus Christ and why did he get songs written about him? The Joker hadn't fully understood and his mother wasn't exactly a theologian, able to competently explain the complex influence Christ had had on this society.

She had simply said he was a special man and then she played the song. It was okay. A bit sappy for his tastes, some girl crooning softly. That wasn't the point of the moment. He just remembered that he wanted to be special. As special as Jesus Christ. That he wanted to be someone they wrote songs about and remembered.

That was what went through his mind back then. In his dream it was all about the song, the lyrics playing through his head. He wondered if they were really the correct words. It would be odd if they were, he'd only heard the song once or twice in his youth. Probably his psyche filled in the blanks.

The woman in the song wanted to soothe her hero and this made Joker angry. If Jesus was so special, such a strong man, why did he need to be soothed? Was he so fallible?

To complacently hand himself over to the musical whims of some woman and her fancies?

Not just a woman but anyone. For a special guy, the saviour sure was dumb.

….

For a psychiatrist, it was hard to describe the balance of emotions inside. The delicate teetering between anticipation and chilling fear. The dread Joker inspired was magnified in his absence. When he was in front of her, corporeal, he was somehow less scary.

When she couldn't see him, when he was less than a man and more of an idea, that's when he haunted her. Harley knew that, at any moment, he could jump out and destroy her. The expectancy built inside her body until it was a psychical thrum and completely exhausting her. Maybe it was because this was the first time she'd felt such an all-consuming terror.

This was how Joker could control her life. Through implication and threat.

It wasn't just paranoia. She had the distinct certainty he was out there watching her. Not all the time but occasionally a cold shiver would trickle down her spine and she knew his cold blues eyes were on her then.

Harley had to give a lecture on her time spent in Europe. It was a huge hall and the lights were so bright she couldn't see the faces in the stands. She knew they were leaning forward, eagerly absorbing her words; dissecting, agreeing or debunking her theory in their mind. The sheer numbers present gratified her. Say what they might about her legitimacy, she could draw a crowd.

Harley couldn't enjoy it over much. She had that chilling feeling down her back. Somewhere in the room, Joker was watching. It defied logic. With his bright green hair and snarling mouth, he was hardly able to blend in with the herd.

"Dr Quinzel?"

Harley realised she'd been standing there like a deer in headlights after she'd been asked a question. She could practically see Joker laughing at her.

She took a deep breath and composed herself. Harley wasn't a helpless lamb running with a wolf. She had teeth of her own. She had an idea. Harley plastered a charming smile on her face and sensed the energy shift in the room. There was a reason she'd found it so simple to seduce her professors into her bed.

"You wanted to know one of the major differences between their 'older' cultures and our new American one? I believe they are much more secure in their concept of identity. They define it themselves. We as a new country, rely on _things_ much more. Law, films, success, artwork." Harley was ignoring her carefully annotated notes and going rogue. While she normally favoured a carefully planned approach, the silent gloating of her stalker galled her enough to be reckless.

"There is a new art show at Gotham museum, I recommend you go and see it. Sit there and try and imagine all those artworks being destroyed. Would we lose something important or in the end are they just pretty pictures on canvas?"

The answer was obvious. To this material society, the affluence and sophistication of art was intrinsic. If a particularly valuable painting got destroyed Gotham would feel its loss keenly. The papers would lament that event much more than say the death of a hooker. One of the reasons, Harley felt very little remorse for her selfish actions. What right did they have to judge her when the spark of human life was worth less than what you could hang on your wall?

Harley figured that out and hoped Joker would also. He was also smart enough to realise that she was baiting him into doing this. It would be interesting to see if he take it anyway.

Harley ended the lecture and answered some of the more informal questions. She deliberately didn't look for Joker; let him think his presence was inconsequential.

She smiled broadly, bantered socially and maintained a perfectly correct demeanour. No one mentioned Jonathan Crane, not even her old teachers. Even though it was common knowledge that up until she had left for Europe they were inseparable.

How the mighty fall. His name had once been gold in these corridors. Now it was stricken from speech like a profanity. She made a mental note to rub that in.

Harley made it out into the sun and breathed deeply. After a year in Europe, she had come to appreciate wide open spaces and light. Both largely lacking in Gotham.

Her phone rang offensively.

"Yes?" she answered rather curtly.

"Harleen?"

"Oh hello Taylor." Taylor was one of those acquaintances rather than friends. They had been paired together on one of those University group projects. Despite her reputation, Taylor hadn't been disrespectful (possibly because she was too busy talking about herself) and Harley had found she was smarter than the typical trust fund kid biding her time until Mummy and Daddy kicked the bucket.

Harley hadn't gone out of her way to maintain her friendship with Taylor finding work absorbed most of her time when she'd left her studies. Taylor called occasionally, mainly if there was a big event planned. Harley usually declined and Taylor got to feel morally superior until she noticed that another long amount of time had passed and she needed to repeat the process.

"How have you been?"

"Fine, just finished giving a lecture. How are you?"

"I just got back from the French Rivera. Supposed to be finding a new job but who has the time for work," she joked.

Harley stifled a yawn; she was suffocating in the mediocrity of this conversation. It wasn't Taylor's fault. The bar had been set rather high lately. "That's interesting." It wasn't that Taylor was stupid or ditzy she just lacked motivation and imagination.

"So I was wondering if you wanted to come to a party tonight?"

"Trashy or trust fund?" Harley only ever went to the trashy parties where she could get drunk, let go and had sex with a complete stranger. The trust fund parties she avoided like the plague. Worse than the plague. They were no fun and there was always someone sniggering in the corner at her. Taylor to her credit was able to tell the difference.

"Trust fund _but_ its Bruce Wayne's party so the line might blur."

"Bruce Wayne?" Harley's interest was piqued. Bruce Wayne was a fascinating person. A few years younger than her, he had been a petulant youth and a trouble maker. Then he had disappeared for several years, been declared dead, came back and was now living like the most dedicated playboy.

He'd probably tell interesting stories and honestly, she needed a distraction from Joker and the obsession he inspired.

"You know what, Tay? I'm in!"

….

He had been surveying her after that last outing had been such a success. As an observer she had been adequate and there was that glorious moment when she had dared to speak against him and he'd got to run his knife down her skin.

Joker narrowed his eyes and breathed in deeply. It had been surprisingly easy to get an apartment across from her. He had plenty of money lying around unused and Frost was an unparalleled fixer. His tongue darted out while he stood there and a giggle escaped but he quickly stemmed it. There was no one here to perform for. He didn't have to project his mental fragility when he was inside his own head. Joker allowed the darkness to swallow him when he was alone.

His make-up was greasy and almost gone. The red was still smudged into his lips and the black around his eyes dominated his face but it would have to be redone soon to regain its full impact.

As he watched, he realised he liked Harley more this way. She let go of the beautiful image and let herself be. Less polish and routine. He could see as she shed her defences, the expensive clothes and perfect makeup. Gone was the idea of her and only the person was left. He'd pressed the binoculars hard against his face to better look at Harley unguarded.

Harley was walking around in her underwear talking on the phone. She was smiling and it was genuine. None of that false charisma she was so prone to turning on him. He wondered who she was talking to and shook his head. He slumped back in the chair and propped his feet up. At some point, his knife had found its way into his hand.

He wasn't trying to asses her just yet, he didn't want distance interfering in that. When those moments came Joker wanted to be able to touch her, hurt her and smell her fear. He wanted the full 3D experience.

This was to see if Commissioner Gordon showed up at her door or The Batman. He already knew she was a trap, this was to find out what type. If she was a worm on a hook, who was holding the fishing rod?

So far she had done a lot of reading and had a lot of sex. It wasn't the riveting viewing he'd expected. He'd secretly hoped she do something really wild like sacrifice an animal.

Harley hung up the phone still grinning broadly. He saw the light flick on in the bedroom and smirked. There was some voyeuristic pleasure about watching her while she remained clueless. Violating her privacy gave him kicks.

Harley pulled out a dress and held it against herself while she twisted and turned in the mirror.

"No, no, no, _noooooo_. Not _that_ one! That's so boring," he mumbled under his breath.

She ignored his advice to his chagrin and slipped into it. The Joker stopped playing with the knife and focused on her intently. He could still make her out even without the assistance of the binoculars. Her seeming disinterest in modesty and curtains worked in his favour.

It seemed little Harley had plans for this evening. The black dress fell to the floor but the back was completely open, exposing her flawless skin. The knife jiggled eagerly in his hand, almost as if it had a mind of its own. It was imagining the bloody tangle of designs it could draw along her back. The Joker bit his lip.

He'd have to kill someone tonight. Some pretty woman with blonde hair and a black dress.

…

She'd just come out of the bathroom when the phone rang. Harley answered it without checking who it was.

"Hello."

"You're not wearing any clothes are you?"

"Jonathan?"

"You always have a different voice if you answer the phone without clothes." His voice was clipped and precise. Only Jonathon could sound so clinical talking about nudity. He was trying to control the emotions as, Harley suspected, he pictured her naked.

Harley allowed herself a smile. She was controlled enough to keep any hint of it out of her voice, so in the privacy of her own apartment she wouldn't hide the fact Jonathan made her happy. Just as long as he didn't know.

"I am wearing underwear so you're only half right," Harley said neutrally.

"Underwear or lingerie?"

She bit her lip and stifled a laugh. "Stop acting like an eleven year old pervert."

"Every man is an eleven year old pervert inside. How did the lecture go?"

"Very well, thank you. Your name is not being bandied about with the same frequency that it once was." It was a caustic barb designed to give her the upper hand. Jonathan had revelled in the glory his ardour for his work had inspired.

She felt his glare across the phone and could see his pursed lips as he paused, thinking of an appropriate response. "Their conservatism was ever a drawback. I am well shot of them."

"Of course." She didn't disguise the mocking in her voice. It is well known you always hurt the ones you love but no one ever says that the majority of the time it isn't accidental.

"You give a lovely speech."

Harley wondered if Jonathan meant in general or more literally. She knew he had a tendency to spy on subjects thinking that would give him a more honest, untainted, understanding off them.

"Were you there?" Harley demanded.

"Not in all intents of the word."

"Elaborate, Jonathan!" Her tone left no room for negotiation.

"I may have placed a transmitter device in the microphone." At least he sounded somewhat guilty for his mischievous act.

"I should have known."

"I did like that last bit you slipped in there about the artworks. Do you think The Joker was there?"

"Almost certain. If he's half he man I believe he is he'll know I'm manipulating him though."

"Let's hope he is curious enough to wonder why."

"And doesn't decide to simply kill me." She allowed some cynicism to enter the conversation.

"Now Harley, no need to be such a fatalist. You know I would be most upset if any harm came to you."

Harley rolled her eyes. "Oh really?"

"Yes! I would think I would be entirely inconsolable for at least a week."

Jonathan sounded so sincere when he said it that she couldn't even be offended. Instead, ridiculously, she smiled again. Such was the affect Jonathan had on her. He could quite literally get away with murder… even hers. Something about those big angelic eyes.

"Very flattering," she said witheringly.

"So how paranoid are you these days?"

"He's definitely watching me but probably not with the frequency I imagine he is." Harley had felt that uncomfortable physical ache she associated with him watching her with increasing regularity. She assumed he had more important things to do than track her so she guessed her mind was running wild with the suspicious fantasy.

"I'd watch you consistently," Jonathan offered. It was his back handed, odd way of complimenting her.

She'd punish him for it. "That's because you want me but can't have me," she taunted.

"That and you have a penchant for wandering around sans clothes. I am a man, Harley." His voice was husky. Jonathan was messing with her. He reserved the husky attack for when he particularly wanted her to need him.

"As much as I love where this conversation is heading I have an appointment."

"A party?"

"Bruce Wayne. And I need to find something suitably devastating to wear."

"Wear that black dress."

"Half my wardrobe is compiled of black dresses."

"I am referring to _that_ black dress. That way if The Joker is watching, he'll have something to look at."

"Oh _the_ black dress! It's a bit like tempting fate don't you think?"

"For once in your life Harley, don't argue with me and trust my masculine advice."

Jonathan didn't wait for a response but hung up the phone.

Normally Harley hated it when he hung up on her but she knew his brusque exit meant she had gotten to him to a degree. This was entirely satisfying and so she was willing to wear the dress even if she thought it was a dangerous idea.

Harley pulled out the dress and slipped into it easily. The black silk floated to her feet and covered her heels completely. It meant she had to walk cautiously and correctly for fear of ending up in an ungraceful heap. Thankfully she had had her gymnastics training to fall back on.

It tied around her neck. The dress didn't reveal much cleavage and it wasn't clingy. Its sensuality stemmed from the fact it exposed her entire back. There in lay the risk.

Harley could remember the look in Joker's eyes as he had cut her cheek. His delight in marking her flesh was painfully evident. The intensity had matched that of any lover. He looked at her flawless body and didn't see perfection. He saw possibility. An untouched canvas.

Wearing this dress was similar to sending him a signed and written invitation, 'bring your own knives'. She hadn't minded when he had cut her cheek with such care and determination; Harley was no stranger to blurring the lines of pleasure and pain. The cut on her cheek had heeled well and could be completely concealed with make-up now. She did worry about what would happen if Joker gave himself over with complete abandon and just how grateful she'd be after.

Not very, if the victims left in his wake spoke for anything.

….

The party was held in a penthouse that made her own luxurious apartment look like a fleapit.

The soft muted lighting and classical music combined with the delicate, articulate conversation of those born to wealth led to a pleasing atmosphere. The food was good enough that Harley was willing to forgive the lack of tequila shots.

Harley hadn't been to one of these parties for at least five years and had matured significantly in that time. She had turned thirty and walked the cobbled streets of almost every European capital, facing her own temporary place in the flow of history.

Gotham had a high turnover of beautiful, young people, and without visibility people were soon forgotten. Hardly anyone recognised her and Harley enjoyed the mystique. In these circles her beauty wasn't so outstanding. Plastic surgery had allowed many to catch up. She took a flute of champagne as it was offered to her.

The refreshments were a sign of the affluence of the owner. Many hosts provided champagne but the cheap kind. Taking a sip Harley knew no expense had been spared. No one was a drunken disgrace but a keen ear revealed a number of people were already slurring. This party had the potential she hoped it would.

Harley locked eyes with a handsome stranger passing for a second longer than was polite. He paused, she didn't but filed his face away in her brain. Perhaps later.

She found Taylor and endured the obligatory hugs and double cheek kiss. Taylor then dragged her over to meet the man of the hour, Bruce Wayne. Harley hadn't resisted much, he was the reason she was here.

He had three girls draping off him. All of them beauties with sparkling eyes. Harley automatically liked these three girls better than the entire room. They were having fun without pretences.

Taylor performed the introductions.

Bruce blinked in confusion at Harley. "Have we met?" He examined her face closely.

"No." Harley replied simply, a little perturbed with his attention

Recovering, Bruce held out his hand to shake hers. "How is it I haven't met such a ravishing creature as yourself?"

Harley smiled, acknowledging the mandatory compliment. "I've been out of the country."

Taylor sighed at her friend's obliqueness. "Harleen is a psychiatrist. She has been studying in Europe."

"I've heard of you." He snapped his fingers, for the first time Bruce looked interested.

"I've heard of you too." Harley purposefully injected a sharpness.

Bruce didn't look offended; he just shot her a rueful grin which was entirely unapologetic. He also didn't elaborate which Harley found irritating.

"Well I have to attend to more of my guests but please, enjoy the champagne, it's been imported from France and I would be horrified if my ostentatiousness was not appreciated. Taylor, always a pleasure. Harley, lovely to meet you and I hope to see more of you.

They didn't talk again but Harley was glad she had come. Bruce was hiding something behind this playboy exterior. He didn't enjoy it nearly as much as he pretended to. If the opportunity rose again she would insert herself into his company but she wasn't going to go out of her way. She had enough complicated men in her life as it was.

Harley returned home at a reasonable hour even though the party was still in full swing. She'd sought out the handsome stranger but his blue eyes were too close to Jonathon's – if she fucked him, it would do more to worsen the tension than relieve it.

Her door was unlocked and she knew for sure she had locked it on the way out.

Heart pounding in her mouth, Harley silently pushed the door open and flicked the lights on expecting the worst.

It was somehow more drastically awful when the lights revealed nothing out of place, no change and no Joker.

She trailed cautiously from room to room saving her bedroom for last. It was there she found the evidence of his intrusion.

All her black dresses were on the floor, sliced into tiny pieces, sprayed with green and purple paint. Harley couldn't believe Joker had stooped to petty vandalism. Possibly the dress had enraged him significantly more than initially expected.

At closer glance she saw a single white card on top of the pile. She gingerly retrieved it. It had an address and a time scrawled on it.

This hadn't been a threat. It had been an invitation.


	6. Chapter 6

Harley stood at the street corner wearing a dress similar to the one she had worn when she met Joker. Blood red. She thought it appropriately symbolic though in all honesty it was more necessity than anything else. Half her wardrobe was in shreds on the floor.

The sun was bright for the first time in so many weeks and it was hard to imagine that on such a delightful day, death was just around the corner. It was nice enough to make her smile.

As it was, death turned up smiling too.

The white van skidded to a halt in front of her and the door slid open. Joker's garish, grinning face beamed out at her.

"Morning," he sang out in a voice so nasally it had to be contrived and hoisted her into the van.

He swung her less than gently so she was squeezed in between two of his goons and sat so they were facing each other, knee to knee.

Harley had forgotten the truly horrifying effect his face could have. The pallor of his skin and his sunken blue eyes contrasted starkly with the black ink scrawled every which way. It made her blood slow to watch him, flooded with the very real sense that she was in the presence of a predator. But she also felt a terrific release that she could sit and study him. To have him in sight was less scary than not knowing where he was.

"Jeez princess, we aren't going to, uh, like a ball or something." His tongue flicked out. It was rich coming from him – his purple jacket was over a pristine green shirt.

"What do you mean?" she asked, feigning ignorance and smoothing the dress over her thighs. She pretended there was no part of her that wanted to hear his thoughts on this dress.

"Could you have dressed a little less…conspicuously?" Every syllable of the word was rolled and popped from his mouth.

"I would have worn something more discreet but inexplicably the entirety of my black wardrobe is indisposed."

Joker slathered his face in what had to be the most forced, exaggerated expression of innocence. With his hands wide he shrugged. " _Que_?"

"' _Que_ ' my ass," Harley muttered under her breath.

Joker cackled. "Such sass, Princess. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Or in the _wrong_ bed?" He clapped his hands together at the idea of scandal but his mouth was twisted into something humourless.

Harley, furious that she had let the expletive slip, ignored his provocation. Instead she asked a question.

"How old are you?"

She started with something easy enough. She need to gauge a bassline of how willing to share he was and how much of what he did share was true.

Joker flattened his hand against his chest in false outrage. "You can't ask me that!"

"Why?"

"It's rude," he retorted, like it was simple. "You'll offend my feminine sensibilities." He raked his hand through his slicked green hair and waggled a reprimanding finger at Harley.

Harley could think of no intelligent response to that obliviously absurd statement. The car squealed to a halt negating her need to.

Harley made to move but was held in her place by Joker.

"How old are you?" He asked – it wasn't a demand, it was an offering. One piece of information in exchange for another.

"Thirty." It didn't occur to her to lie. Harley didn't intend to be an open book but she would pick and choose her battles to gain his trust. Besides her age was public record, easy to calculate from her degree and the insipid articles about her gymnastic exploits.

"Hoochie Mamma! An older wo-man!" He wolf whistled. Harley raised two elegant eyebrows asking him silently if he was finished with the spectacle. He just broke down into giggles.

"I'm taking this to mean you are, in fact, younger than me?"

"You can take it however you want. I know how I'd like to take it. With you on top." He smirked bawdily. He was in a playful mood and Harley suspected he'd be willing to engage in conversation but similarly she was acutely aware they had gone somewhere for a reason and his actions would speak louder than his words.

Harley stood and moved past him towards the open door. Just as she was about to step out of the van he smacked her hard and painfully on the ass.

She resisted the urge to turn around and hit him with all her strength. That action hadn't arisen from a playful, flirtatious desire. That was an exertion of power. Perhaps it was punishment for not rising to his salacious bait but it made her grit her teeth all the same.

Harley was more than happy for violence to get mixed in with her sex play but only when she knew there was respect. When she had the power. If it suited his mood, Joker would set her on fire and kick her corpse while she burnt.

…

Joker saw the visible tightening of her shoulders and knew she was just itching to beat him senseless. She thought a lot of herself, ole Harls did, and he wondered how long it would take to break her of it. Or if he even should?

Feisty could be fun after all.

Let her store it all up until one gloriously bloody show down. He wasn't sure if that meant a fight or a fuck. He didn't have a preference either way. There was a skip in his step as he imagined how Harley would fight. Like a hell cat. Probably the same in bed. These prim proper girls were always the kinkiest underneath.

He would never find out if she was going to hit him that day as her eyes adjusted to the light and she saw where they were.

"The museum?" she breathed.

"Yes, it was an excellent suggestion of yours." His tone was losing its cheeriness. It was settling into a much darker octave. He was preparing for something. Somebody was going to die.

"I did not seriously consider the possibility that you'd act on it."

"Didn't you?" He winked and grabbed her into a choke hold. His knife was at her throat. "I am a team player after all."

"This dance again?" She sounded bored, which made his heart flutter with frustration. It would be so easy to make her 'not bored' but he didn't want to break his new toy before he was done playing with it.

"Wouldn't want anyone thinking you _willingly_ placed yourself in the company of _moi_."

She tilted her head so she could see his expression and he made her wish she hadn't. There was such raw longing in his eyes as he held the blade to her neck. Harley's skin was proving to be a great temptation. The grip on the knife was tight and he seemed to be restraining himself. But barely.

Harley swallowed and that subtle fear indicator was a better aphrodisiac than anything else. "Should I be afraid?"

"Don't worry, Princess." He grinned, baring his metallic teeth. "I've decided if I kill you it won't be with a knife."

"How would you do it?" Harley had an unhealthy tendency towards morbid curiosity. It was endearing.

The Joker's grin shifted into a snarl. "With my teeth."

Harley couldn't repress a shiver, one that's origins were not entirely fear. "You really know how to turn a girl on."

He chuckled, elated at her attempt to joke in the face of such a visceral promise. She had backbone, he'd give her that. He'd also take it away given half the chance. That was his current goal as it stood.

They burst through the doors, accompanied by the sounds of machine gunfire. Joker waved his knife hand expressively as if conducting an orchestra.

He manoeuvred her into the elevator and gave one curt order to the henchmen.

"Up. Take the stairs," he snapped in his raspy voice.

…

The doors slid shut and he moved away from Harley to study the floor plan plastered on the wall.

"What would you like to see today, dear?" He had a fake British accent, horrifyingly accentuated by the nasally quality of his voice.

"Oh you know me, easily entertained." Harley answered honestly. She was just glad to be going into this debacle without a concussion.

"Indecisive woman," he was distracted as he said it. He was no longer paying Harley any attention. Probably wouldn't until he needed her as a prop again.

He selected a button somewhere near the top floor. Harley couldn't see over his shoulder which one exactly. She tended to forget just how tall he was until she saw him in person.

He then pulled out a small lump of something and began attaching it to the roof.

"I hesitate to ask but what are you doing?" Harley broke the silence.

"Hesitate a bit more," he growled at her, trying to focus. The chill down her spine and enough action movies gave her a pretty good idea of what he was sticking there.

The doors slid open smoothly and he kicked Harley in the small of the back. She went sprawling onto the floor out of the elevator. She let out a small yelp of pain more from shock than hurt. He'd been too civil thus far that she really should have been expecting him to lash out.

He jumped out of the elevator. "Ta da," he yelled dramatically, his hands out and his eyes wide. He was greeted with hush. His notoriety and the machine guns his henchmen held ensured rapt attention. Not like the early days when people had laughed and called him a freak. He didn't have to make his pencil disappear any more.

Still he couldn't resist a magic trick or two. Joker grabbed the arm of a security guard that was brave (or stupid) enough to reach for him and forced him into the elevator with a hard shove.

"I'm going to make this man disappear!" The elevator doors closed before the man could gather himself enough to escape. The numbers started to drop.

"Abracadabra!" Joker shouted and pointed at the elevator. He looked disappointed when nothing happened.

"I gotta get better equipment," he whined.

There was a loud bang and the sound of a crash. The elevator had been blown to smithereens. Harley stared as the smoke began seeping through the gaps around the elevator door. Her face was neutral as she gracefully got to her feet.

"Better late than never." He then proceeded to congratulate himself with a pat on the back.

"Now would someone be so good as to call 911?"

Harley watched a frightened hostage frantically dial the police as if the explosion wouldn't have been summoning enough. He clearly preferred an audience for his mania.

Joker redirected his attention to her and she tried to conceal the glare she shot his way. More at the indignity of being sent sprawling to her feet like she was an errant dog than his murder.

"Sorry?" Joker shrugged. His insincerity was palpable.

Harley sighed and rubbed the small of her back. That would bruise but on the other hand she was a lot better off than that security guard was. She took in her surroundings. There were big glass walls on all sides, letting natural light pour in. She felt an instant shot of fear. Like windows and toddlers, windows and Joker were a recipe for disaster. On the plus side, they'd have a great view of all the SWAT snipers when they got in position.

"This is hardly a strategic location."

"Whaddya mean?" Joker looked around trying to see the fault that Harley had observed but he clearly hadn't.

"The windows. We're in a shooting gallery."

"Princess, do I detect concern?"

"Yes, for myself," she mumbled that last bit under her breath. He still heard and wheezed out a laugh.

"You worry too much. Relaaaaax! Enjoy the music till the police get here."

There was indeed music playing over the Museums speaker system. Light classical music. Joker was suddenly right next to her and pulled her into a waltz. It was clumsy, out of time, and ridiculous; he hummed along to the music before lowering her into an uncomfortable dip, hampered by her tense spine.

Joker then unceremoniously let her fall. She winced but didn't react in any other way. During their first outing he seemed content to discover her threshold to pain and fear. Now he was seeing how much he could embarrass her and torment her with his complete disregard.

Harley thought about snapping back with some barbed witticism that would humiliate him in front of everyone here but thought better of it. No need to antagonise the already angry animal looking in your direction.

Harley watched the flashing lights approaching down the street. The sirens were getting closer and closer. She wondered if any of these men would get a good look at her and identify her. Thankfully the idea of Joker allowing a single woman to follow him around was so foreign they could only assume she was there under duress.

One of the hostage's phone rang. Likely the one who called 911. Joker wrinkled his nose. "That would be for me."

He snapped his fingers in the direction of the mobile until one of the henchmen sprang into action and delivered it to him.

…

"Hi mom!"

"Joker. What do you want this time?" Commissioner Gordon's voice was calm but terse. His considerable patience was being eroded by the onslaught of shenanigans.

"Co-missioner, It's kinda upsetting we only chat in these circumstances. We should meet socially. How about you invite me over for dinner?"

"You want to play games? That's fine. Just assure me that everyone is safe."

Joker liked talking to Gordon. Sure he was bland as toast but he was hard to rattle and that in of itself was fun. He enjoyed pushing at people, working out their breaking point. And given Gordon's terminal interest in the welfare of people and his city, there were plenty of opportunities to niggle at him.

"I can't do that, Commissioner. Everyone is a lot of people. I can't speak for everyone in the entire world!"

The Commissioner sighed. _"_ Everyone in the museum."

"They're okay for now. If you want them to stay that way you'll release one criminal from maximum security every hour or there will be _severe_ consequences… everyone will not be safe then." He flicked his tongue and smacked his lips waiting for Gordon's reaction. The threat of civilian death for no other reason than that it amused him was usually galling enough for the Commissioner to take the bait and bite.

"You're crazy!"

"No I'm not," he barked, immediately forgetting that he had provoked that insult himself. That word made him see red – it was so over used it had lost its meaning, slapped on anything that didn't fit the status quo.

"Whatever you are, I'll order you shot if you don't let those people go."

…

Harley took a subconscious step backwards towards the glass. There were times where she felt Joker was manageable, even despite his volatile tendencies. But she had spent enough time in Arkham asylum to recognise danger and it was there in his eyes. Whatever had been said on the other side of the phone had been a trigger. How she wished she'd heard it.

Even as she created distance between them, she watched him hawkishly. Joker was fighting for control. He cracked his neck, fixated on the phone conversation and what was being said. His gaze roved the length of the windows before his eyes shot to Harley standing near the glass, watching him warily.

"You won't shoot me, Commissioner," he purred into the phone, all of a sudden in control of the conversation.

Harley didn't care for the way he was studying her now.

"I brought my own shield."

He struck, quick as a snake, slamming Harley's back into the glass and forcing himself up hard against her body. She had flinched, wanting to strike back, but by the time her brain has processed the incoming threat he was upon her. He waved an enthusiastic hand past Harley's head as she fought to breathe. The impact had driven the air from her and the fear clamped down on her chest.

Harley's mind was reeling. Joker was flush against her, leaving her no room to move. The snipers couldn't possibly get a clear shot at him right now. As he'd said, she was a human shield.

"Now Commissioner would you kill such a _pretty_ ," he spat that word into her face, all of his anger roaring back and directed at her, "woman? All I want is a few tiny criminals released until I get bored of this and everyone lives."

"Let her go, Joker!"

She was close enough now that she could hear the small voice on the other end. Even as her heart raced, her mind churned faster. This was the second time the attention had been drawn to her. Gordon was a decent cop with no small amount of intelligence and while he might chalk this up to a coincidence, closer scrutiny would reveal her association with Jonathon and her own agenda. It was the opposite of what she'd wanted and she berated herself for continuing to seek out the one person she'd met who seemed to be resistant to her manipulations.

"Everyone wants to defend you, Princess." He directed this assessment at her, one hand still cradling the phone and the other hard on her ribs. "You do make a fantastic hostage. Can you see me, Commissioner?"

"Parts of you."

Joker buried his face in Harley's neck and inhaled deeply. "You know how a good woman smells, Commissioner? You have a wife so you do know. They smell just edible." Joker sank his teeth into Harley's neck and she gasped in pain. He had drawn blood.

Gordon heard it. "Damn it. Let her go!"

"She's just so perfect, Commissioner. So perfect on the outside." Joker let his hand trail up her thigh bringing her dress up with it, exposing her leg.

"I wonder what it would be like to see inside her, be inside her, Commissioner. Would it be just as perfect?" Joker was encouraged by the taste of her blood and her naked fear.

Her neck was throbbing and every nerve in her was radiating, calling her to action. At least she wasn't the focus of his attention, not really. At the moment she was just a prop piece in his theatre.

There was no response from the other end of the phone apart from Gordon's ragged breathing as he tried to contain his disgust and rage.

"I could do it now, Commissioner, and tell you how it goes? Hell, you'll have ring side seats." He smacked his lips, getting off on the audience, the threat.

Harley had closed her eyes and tried to clarify her brain. She knew he'd do it to prove a point and she needed the advantage back and soon. She considered fighting him off but he'd probably just kill her.

He ground into her, stopping all coherent thought, sinuous and lean. For an insane instant she wanted him to do it but she could feel from his body that he wasn't in the mood and this was all mind games. This sobering realisation lent her control.

"I'll give her a kiss for you, Commissioner." Joker was leaning his lips close to her and Harley recoiled.

"Damnit, I'll see what I can do." Gordon was lying and they both knew it but he couldn't watch Joker violate her in front of his eyes and he wouldn't shoot her to get him. Harley cursed their weakness even as she was thankful for it. If they'd had half a dozen like herself down there, they would have done the math and realised one causality was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Especially not if they felled the infamous Joker. Now they were just buying time until Batman could be summoned or until Joker killed someone.

Joker was satisfied though. He giggled in the phone once, eerily, before hanging up. Having finished with his charade and flush with victory, he pulled Harley away from the window but kept an arm clamped around her waist. She was his body armour now and would take any bullet intended for him.

"Thanks for that," Harley snapped sarcastically, her heart starting to slow to a normal rate.

"Don't mention it, Princess." And he crushed his lips to hers, driving home his absolute control of the situation.

Harley shoved him back and hard. Her lipstick mixed with the waxy red of his, the heat of his mouth searing and unwelcome.

He laughed as she reared back in disgust. Seeing her opening and suddenly deciding a bit of pain might be worth it, Harley slapped him, hard enough to make his head jerk back.

Her fists curled and she readied herself for his retaliation but Joker just smirked, enjoying everything about this moment. "Tease," he rasped. Then he wound her back against his body, went right back to ignoring her and barking instructions.

Harley was trembling against him, untethered blonde hair falling around her shoulders, adrenaline and anger competing inside her. His complete dismissal of her attack was infuriating and she got the sense she was still along for the ride though no closer to the steering wheel or the instruction manual. She wasn't surrendering though. Harley thought it was about time Joker got a taste of his own medicine. She just needed something appropriately fucked up.

 **AN: Please review and let me know your thoughts.**


	7. Chapter 7

Commissioner Gordon stared at the windows and cursed the gall of the Joker. The man was ingenious Gordon admitted grudgingly. He returned his attention to the phone call he was currently immersed in with the mayor.

"Absolutely not."

Gordon winced. This was the exact reaction he had expected.

"There must be some other way."

Gordon shook his head slowly, forgetting for the moment that the mayor couldn't see him. "These are our options."

"Don't you have snipers for this sort of thing?" the Mayor exclaimed, definitely not of the opinion that one should remain calm in these types of situations.

"We don't have a clear shot?"

"He's in a fish bowl!"

"He's using a woman as a human shield!" Gordon explained, feeling bile rise in his throat as he remembered the Joker's little dramatic exhibition only a few hours ago. He'd wished he'd skipped the Mayor and gone a little higher up the food chain. He still had a very ominous business card on his desk from one Amanda Waller offering to come and help should he ever need it. But Gordon didn't like what he'd heard about her. Still low level in the CIA but going places fast and not caring who she trod on to get there. He suspected if he'd contacted her, the museum would have been levelled in a bomb blast faster than he could blink; killing dozens of civilians at the same time.

No, dithering as he was, the Mayor was a better bet for keeping everyone alive.

"We are _not_ releasing some of the most dangerous criminals back into society." The Mayor was beginning to sound less certain as his choices vanished before his eyes. Public approval ratings were fickle things. Little incidents involving innocents getting killed tended to lessen your chances of re-election.

"We do not negotiate with terrorists," he continued to bluster, though Gordon could hear his resolve weakening. Gordon had nothing to say. His eyes were still fixed on the museum. The Mayor was not a particularly bad sort but his complacency had led to more than one problem in the city and he didn't have the spine to sort it out. Any of it out. He had vigorously denounced Batman and yet hadn't lifted a finger to really stop him policing the streets. Gordon was happy enough with that – he didn't support vigilantism, but sometime the law meant the police couldn't get there fast enough or do what they needed to.

Then again, Gordon didn't think he'd be experiencing the problems he was with the lunatic clown if Batman hadn't served as a lure for every unstable individual with a taste for violence and mayhem within driving distance.

"What will he do, Gordon?" The Mayors voice was small and far away.

Gordon looked at his watch. Two hours had passed. "I don't know but we're about to find out."

As if cued by Gordon's words, the glass a few levels above The Joker was shot out. Gordon flinched and covered his eyes as the police manning the permitter shouted at people to get back.

A man was lowered out with some sort of rope. Gordon's blood ran cold at the sight. He should have known it wouldn't just be horrific, it would be public. Liquid splattered on the ground under the hanging man's feet. He was bound but not gagged and soaked in something. He also had a painting strapped to his body.

"What is that?" Gordon mumbled to himself, inching closer to the droplets on the ground despite the protestations of the other emergency responders. His eyes widened. "Gasoline," he breathed.

He snapped his fingers and snatched the tablet so that he could look at the feed of the camera directly across from the criminal.

The man was lowered, screaming, so he dangled just outside the level The Joker stood on. The Joker had pushed the woman up against the window but she was facing out now. Her expression was almost entirely blank, except she was biting her lip and her fingers were tense as they pressed against the glass.

The Joker stuck his head out from behind her briefly, grinning like a brute. He waggled his fingers in a gross imitation of a wave before ducking back behind the woman before anyone could take the shot.

Waving goodbye. He clicked his fingers and one of the henchmen dropped a match from the gaping hole in the museum side.

The Mayor was still on the mobile phone, yapping into his ear. "Gordon, what's happening?"

Gordon didn't answer. He just watched speechless as the tiny speck of flame fell, praying to a god he didn't know he believed in that it would be extinguished before it fell.

Gordon should have prayed more before now. His stomach lurched as the man caught fire. The man writhed and crackled and shrieked.

Gordon had seen a lot of terrible shit during his time on the force but the sight of a man being burned alive made him close his eyes for a few desperate seconds. There were some things he didn't want to see when he was trying to fall asleep at night. But he was a police officer first and foremost and he was called upon to witness as much as he was to protect.

The painting concealed most of the burning body until it too caught fire. But the man's face wasn't obscured at all and Gordon saw every horrible nuance of pain, emotion and fear. He saw the charring, the bubbling and the burning as his face melted before Gordon's eyes.

Gordon found himself screaming hoarsely for fire engines but hopelessness sat on his chest like a weight. The fire trucks couldn't quench the hellfire The Joker had begun with all the water in Gotham.

…

Harley had seen some disgusting things in her life. It was bound to happen in her line of work.

She had seen a woman cut off her own hand, because it was 'Satan's hand.' She had seen a man try to sexually force himself onto a pig, smeared in his own excrement, professing love the entire time.

And yet, somehow, it all paled compared to what she was forced to watch. The Joker had her all but pressed against the glass in his eagerness to watch his destruction first hand. Harley couldn't even close her eyes.

It took a lot to shake Harley up but watching the man burn alive had come uncomfortably close to unnerving her. The man had been a pawn, inconsequential but it was striking image all the same. Just the visual turned her stomach and threatened to haunt her. She kept her face neutral but couldn't stop herself biting her lip.

Harley knew logically that she couldn't smell the cooking flesh through the inch thick glass but she imagined she did.

Joker was shaking with glee. "Look at it burn," he gasped. He would have clapped his hands if he wasn't clutching Harley. "Look at the pretty, pretty lights. It's like Christmas."

His tongue darted out, snaked up the back of her neck making her shiver. For what reason, she didn't care to consider just then.

Joker stayed there watching until all that was left was smoking remains. It didn't resemble a human anymore and the painting was utterly gone. There was soft sobbing from the hostages behind him but it bounced off him like water.

Joker staggered back into the museum, away from the prying eyes of the police, pulling her with him. She could feel his reaction against her back. Murder got him hard.

"Well that was fun," he breathed into Harley's neck. He turned to one of his henchman. "Cut it down."

'It' had of course been a 'he.'

Joker twisted Harley around to face him and searched her face for any signs of hysteria. If she had shown any, she would have strung her up next with the next painting.

Harley suspected she knew what he was contemplating. As far as anyone could know what he was thinking. For all she knew he could be thinking about what to eat for dinner. The absurdity that that might actually be what was running through his head brought a perversely, genuine smile to her face.

Instead, as if to completely reinforce the idea that she was unaffected, icy stone, she casually reached up to straighten the collar of his dress shirt.

"You're idea of fun is enthralling," she assured him. She wasn't lying. Panic and excitement twisted like vines in her stomach.

…

Joker nodded approvingly. A giggle bubbled out of his mouth as he basked in the after-glow of the fireworks. Still, back to business at hand.

"Soooo, Princess - why the museum?"

"I have a deep appreciation for art." Harley lied. Conspicuously too. He tilted his head, satiated by the dramatic killing he'd just orchestrated but eager enough that he'd kill her if she annoyed him. His hyper focus on her wondered why she had bothered telling such a bad lie when he'd seen her lie so much better before. Was it possible she wanted him to push for the truth? Hurt her for it?

He yanked her hair hard. "As much as I love a little subterfuge here and there, I wanna know the _real_ reason."

"I want one of those paintings."

He had her head pulled back at an awkward angle, her throat exposed, but this didn't seem to faze her much. On a whim, he dragged his lips across her throat leaving a red smear in its wake that looked like blood.

"What for, Princess? You're rich. You're very rich." He smacked his lips, his eyes fixed on her throat and the mark he'd left. Oh how he'd love to make it permanent. But making sure the cuts weren't too deep would require more self-control than he had available to him at the present.

Harley saw where his attention lay and clicked her fingers. "I'm up here."

He barked out a laugh. She treated him like any little boy that had been caught staring at her breasts.

Joker sniggered. "They should put that on a T-shirt."

"I think they have," Harley breathed, probably thinking that she'd sooner eat shards of glass than wear something so vulgar. He, however, had obliged and given her the weight of eye contact.

"I think, Princess, that it's a present for someone." He punctuated each syllable with a pop, tucking some wayward golden strands of hair behind her ear. He was pushing her into rocky terrain and wanted to see if she could keep up the tightrope walking act.

"It is."

"A boy?"

Harley didn't answer and Joker didn't laugh. "Are you trying to manipulate me for this boy, Princess?"

His voice was dangerously low. Joker was a possessive little child sometimes and he had been tickled by the idea Harley had come to him. He fancied that made her his possession to do with what he will. What the Joker didn't like was the idea she had been sent to him. It tarnished her, made her less fun.

"I told you why-"

"Princess, if you lie to me again, I'll tear your throat out." His lips were hovering over her throat but now he bared his teeth in a snarl.

"Yes. I was asked and I came. But only because it benefited me." Her pulse was thundering and as Joker brushed his mouth against her neck he felt it fluttering there like a caged bird. He made sure she felt the press of his teeth.

"Do you like this boy, Princess?"

"Yes."

"Is he a beautiful boy? A whole boy?"

"Yes."

Jokers tongue flicked out, tasting her skin and her fear. This was how he had pictured this moment. Her, trapped against him, nowhere to run and suicidal enough to be honest with him. He couldn't imagine why accomplished, two-faced Harley didn't lie to him now, when honesty was prone to make him volatile.

"Doesn't have these scars? You want to know how I got them, Harley?"

She started at the use of her name. "Yes," she answered simply.

Joker pulled back so he could maintain eye contact. "I was a… restless… youth. I didn't have time for school in my poor neighbourhood. So I got in with some petty thieves. Insignificant thieves." He smacked his lips and looked around as if recalling what came next. He tugged at the base of his blazer, illogically making it sit straight.

"Now, we pissed off the big bad wolf of the neighbourhood. The prince of crime, if you will and he came after us. He was going to let us off with a warning because we were just young punks. But I-ah…. I made the _mistake_ of laughing at him. So he grabs a razor blade and holds it in my mouth. ' _Think you're funny?'_ he growls and I can't think of anything to say. And I ain't laughing now.

"' _Why so serious? I thought you like to smile?_ And so he cuts me up. Makes me like this but it's okay… because I can take a joke."

Joker sniggered outrageously.

"Is any of that true?"

"Someone would have to read it back to me."

He thrust her away. He strode over to the wall and scrutinised the paintings. The Joker finally settled on one and yanked it off the wall and threw it to Harley.

"This is for your pretty boy. With _my_ regards." He stretched his shoulders. Telling stories about his scars made Joker tense. It was all dark, static blur when he tried to remember what had actually happened.

"Why?" Harley questioned.

"I like to reward good behaviour and this," he gestured widely to the museum, " _This_ was a good idea. Fido barks for master, master gives Fido a treat." The Joker walked over and ruffled her hair condescendingly. "Good Fido, good dog. Ruff!"

Harley put the painting down carefully and lunged forward unexpectedly, grabbed his shirt front, pulling him down to eye level.

She spoke precisely and with control. "If you ever insinuate I'm a dog again I'll stab you in the eye with my heels."

Joker raised an eyebrow, both sceptical and amused. "Can you even kick that high?"

Harley shrugged. "You'd be lying down."

"Why would I be doing that?"

Harley yanked him down harder so she could whisper in his ear.  
"Because I would have cut your legs off."

A laugh erupted from Joker's throat. "You naughty, _naughty_ girl."

 **AN: Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

Harley cast a glance out the window. She had slid down so she was sitting against the wall, with the painting lying at her feet. Joker had ignored her after he had gifted the art work to her. He was dancing around, poking and tormenting the hostages who were all terrified they would be the next to be strung up. Harley's back was pressed hard against the wall behind her as if it might swallow her up, shield her from the rest of the chaos. Her eyes flicked between the exquisite artwork, discarded on the ground as if it weren't worth millions of dollars, to the whirlwind of activity that was Joker. Unbidden her fingers went to her lips, where he kissed her with searing force earlier. They were still smeared with the bloody red of his lipstick.

He was acting as if she were invisible, as inconsequential as the pretty piece of paper he'd flung in her direction. The mention of Jonathon had soured his grin, twisting it into a grimace. He hasn't liked hearing about the other man. He thought she was his alone, to play with or discard as he wished. Harley knew all too well how spoilt brats acted when they had to share their toys and it put her in precarious position. Still. It was hard not to level him with gloating eyes. There was more man in the madness than she had thought and Harley knew how to work with that.

The police had long been joined by the media and Harley knew it was only a matter of time before Batman showed up. She hoped Joker had another daring plan to escape but right now she was tired, worn out by the stress of the situation and longing for her bed and a shower. She wanted to wash the screams of the burning man off her skin and out of her brain.

The hostage closest to her was taking panicked, loud breathes and it was beginning to grate on Harley's nerves. As much as she liked the discovery Joker could be jealous, she was irritated by his cold shoulder. Her neighbour was exacerbating her fragile mood.

"Oh shut up," Harley mumbled under her breath. Her iron control was threadbare and unlike Joker, this woman wasn't nearly interesting enough to tolerate.

"You say something, Princess?" Joker spun away from his discussion with his henchmen. She had said it quiet but as she was the only one making noise in the big echoing room apart from Joker the sound carried.

She nodded towards the window. "It's dark outside."

"That's an excellent observation, Princess." Joker's voice was deadpan.

"Is that good or bad for us?" She honestly didn't much care whatever the answer was as long as it mean she could get outside and away from the blubbering.

Joker shrugged. "It could go either way." He giggled and stroked his gun, clearly amused with the potential chaos this situation could invoke. He looked at Harley. "You might want to start praying."

"To who?" Harley shot back. "Please tell me you at least have a plan?"

"I have a plan."

"Really?" Harley glanced up with a little bit of excitement.

" _Nooooooo_." The Joker slid down the wall to sit next to Harley. He bumped her knee with his, an absurdly affectionate gesture from someone with the word _Damaged_ inked into his forehead.

She felt a smile quirk her lips. It was unwelcome and she forced it down quickly. "Then why did you say so?"

"You asked me to. I can't resist a please," he replied, all wide eyed innocence.

Joker retrieved his watch out of his pocket then gestured pointedly at his henchmen and the man left. The others started moving in a flurry of activity. That was the thing about Joker's henchmen. Many were as unstable as Joker but lacked the direction. They relied on him to point them in directions. The zealousness though? They had that in spades. Like attack dogs trained to only respond to his command. They moved and operated with surprising efficiency.

The lights cut out and there were soft gasps from the hostages who had long ago lost the will to scream. It was black but the lights from the police and media trucks were casting enough of a glow that she could make out people's outlines.

In the dark, a hand brushed her thigh once before grasping it, hurting, and gliding higher.

"I have a bear trap up there." Harley said calmly. The feel of his hand had made things low in her body tighten and throb. But Jonathan had been doing that to her for years, she'd learnt to ignore her reaction. That Joker thought to turn her own sensuality against her, use it as a weapon, was disappointing. And entirely distracting.

She'd thought he'd have a more original approach.

Joker sniggered and pouted. " _Puhleaseeeee_?"

"I'm not as won over by the word 'please' as some," Harley told him. Joker was a little boy who wanted something just because he couldn't have it.

There was a pause and Joker's voice dropped into something deep, gravelly and terrifying. "I could make you scream."

Her mouth was dry but she managed to say, "I'm sure you could… but in all the wrong ways."

"What's the wrong way?" he was provoking her. Harley was too tired of watching her step and her thundering pulse mad it hard to think.

"'Oh god, please don't cut off that important limb' is the wrong way."

"As opposed to good screams…?"

Harley locked her eyes with him, even in the dark she could see their sharp blue, jarringly beautiful. "Oh god, fuck me harder. Don't stop."

She was so close to him, Harley was certain her breath was on his skin.

His face remained impressively still but he tightened his hand before removing it and his jaw clenched. His tongue darted out and he smirked, building the smile back upon his face layer by layer. Harley caught a flash of something from the dark as henchmen brought out mirrors. Lots of them. They were gluing them to the wall with a hot glue gun.

"Mirrors?"

"Yehah… because I'm soooo pretty!" He sniggered to himself. There was no humour in his voice though. She could tell that Joker believed that he was repulsive. Just like everyone else thought. Harley wondered how often people had told him he was disgusting and experienced an unexpected kernel of sympathy lodge in her chest.

"I didn't see you bring these in," she observed dryly, as mirror after mirror was brought in. The sheer quantity surprised her and she caught sight of her reflection. Hair tangled, cheeks flushed and her mouth a red stained mess.

"Well duh, princess, they have been here for about a week. Yeah a week," he confirmed.

Harley watched them cover all the walls and randomly place free standing mirrors around the room. It was a labyrinth of reflections. What he said though made Harley pause.

"A week? But my lecture - my lecture was two days ago."

"Right," he purred. The self-confidence and satisfaction was blatant and Harley realised she had been playing another game with him without knowing the rules. Worse, she had thought she was winning.

"You planned this a long time ago? Why did you let me think I had manipulated you into this?" Her surprise startled her into asking. She was used to be underestimating by everyone and using this to her advantage but she'd never been evaluated so correctly and pushed so firmly onto the back foot.

Joker giggled. "Because the idea of _you_ manipulating _me_ turned me on." He leaned into her, crowding her.

"Honestly?"

"Princess, haven't you figured out that I'm the wrong guy to go to for _hon-es-ty!_ " He shook his head, disbelieving. "Women."

He pulled himself fluidly to his feet and yanked her up less gracefully. "Now Princess, things are going to get a little dramatic in here. Messy if I have anything to say about it, so if you could just park it, uh, over by them there hostages and stay out of my way that would be _super_."

"What about my painting," She pointed a finger at where it lay on the ground.

"I'll post it to you."

"Promise?" She cocked her head as she asked. God help her, was she flirting with him?

He threw his hands in the air. "Sheesh princess, shut up or I'll burn you as the welcome wagon." He proceeded to mutter under his breath. She caught words like 'demanding,' and 'trying to conduct a heist here,' his words warm with anger. She had genuinely frustrated him and that made Harley grin.

Good to know she could annoy him too if she wanted to. It somewhat made up for the impotent rage she felt when he had treated her like a pet.

Harley moved herself with as much dignity as she manage before Joker could take it into his head to force her.

As she was ingratiating herself with the other hostages, the glass shattered out of the window. Harley flinched and covered her head with her hands.

In the eerie silence that followed, Joker's cackling laugh echoed dissonantly in the room as sharp as the glass shards cracking under his feet. His garish smile filled about seven of the mirrors and it was impossible to guess where he was standing in the room. He flashed one toothy grin before fitting a clown mask down over his face. He could be any one of the henchmen in the room now. Like a carnival game where you had to pick which of the cups hid the ball but the worker moved them in increasingly complex patterns.

She saw the sliding shadow in the mirrors. So Gordon had definitely sent in Batman. Harley speculated whether anyone else was capable of dealing with Joker. Whether Joker would accept anyone else?

"I don't want to play games," Batman growled.

"This isn't a _game_. No _noooooo_ this is a masque ball. Why else would we all be wearing such pretty disguises?" His voice filtered through though the source remained unknown.

Harley kept her head down but tracked the movement from the corner of her eyes. Her palms were sweaty as she clenched her fists. Occasionally a tasteless clown mask would loom into the mirror closest to her but she had no way of knowing whether it was Joker. Her body was poised for action, ready to run or fight as necessary.

With the startling realisation this scheme had been in development for weeks, before Jonathan had even told her to nudge Joker towards the museum, Harley knew he could have set any number of traps, explosives or back exits.

Batman seized one masked figure and furiously ripped off the mask. He met the wide rolling eyes of some generic lunatic. He punched him hard in the face. The man crumpled in on himself.

One of the henchmen slammed against a mirror near the hostages and the woman closest to Harley clutched her hand. Harley looked at the gripping hand, surprised. She didn't not particularly give off a supportive vibe. The hostages clearly hadn't been able to hear what Joker and Harley had said to each other or if they had, they hadn't comprehended the complexity of their relationship. They must genuinely believe she was here under duress. This was a relief; in the back of her mind Harley turned over the fact this was twice she'd been seen in his company. They were beginning to look chummy. As exciting as all this was, Harley wasn't ready to trade her freedom for a thrill.

Harley covered the woman's hands with her own and squeezed, indulging the charade, just as a round of gunfire echoed through the room. One of the mirrors exploded bodily when a bullet hit it and a shard cut through the throat of a clown lurking behind it.

He swayed on his feet, his neck a gaping ruin, an obscene parody of a smile. Harley could only guess by the spray of blood that covered her and a few of the hostages that it was the end of his short life. Had it amounted to much, she wondered.

Batman cursed. "Idiots." The bullets had come from the police and could have just as easily hurt him or a hostage.

That obvious fact didn't stop them sending more shots into the museum blindly hoping they hit something. Harley slumped forward, hands thrown back over her head and her ears. She could only hear muffled shouting now and the snaps as bullets whizzed by. Her own breathing was loud and ragged and she could not only feel, but listen to, the thud of her heart.

The hot blood slid down Harley's face and a small portion crept into her mouth. She tried to ignore it but it was potent, lying thick on her tongue. The combination of the smell and taste of the blood, and the adrenalin was waking something in her that never seemed far from the surface these days.

Of all the emotions and reactions she could be experiencing right now in this hectic chaos she dully noted that above the fear, the self-preservation, the anxiousness, was the fact that she was horny as hell.

Joker sure knew how to take a girl out on the town. Or more specifically, her kind of girl.

Harley wondered what Joker thought of blood as an aphrodisiac. She supposed he got himself off over a barrel of gasoline or stroking his knives.

This frustrated Harley because above anything in that moment she wanted him to slowly lick the blood off her before turning his mouth to other sensitive parts of her body. With the wave of adrenaline riding her body, she was willing to risk let his teeth near her.

But this was never going to happen, she reminded herself, because for Harley to sleep with him he would have to want her more than anything else. Crave her. Even more than chaos and disorder.

That was as likely as Jonathan becoming a monk.

Harley realised her breathing was shallow, almost as if she was panting. Good god! Was this what the man had reduced her to? A bitch in heat. Harley forced herself to look up, fuelled by her exasperation at herself. He would not make a puppet of her. And she would not rely on him. With new determination, she began scanning for an escape. She was going to get herself the hell out of here.

There were fewer mirrors now and certainly less henchmen. It was still dark and the action seemed further away. Her eyes adjusted marginally. They were headed towards the stairs. Good. Take that brutish violence with them.

There were footsteps on the stairs, no elevator to ease the way, softly scuffing. The doors were kicked in and twenty little red dots slid over the hostages bodies. That SWAT team of Gordon's was always late to the party. They brought torches with them to flood the room with light.

Harley's chest bloomed with red from the lazer points.

Behind enemy lines now and all for Jonathans fucking painting.

….

The woman across the table was beautiful. She was bloodied, pallid and under florescent light but still lovely. And very familiar. Despite all the beauty there was something unsettling about her eyes. They didn't meet his very often but when they did, he found himself wishing they wouldn't.

Gordon cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain professional. He had seen the security footage and witnessed Joker threaten to rape her against a window. What made her special? Why had he singled her out? Odder still, she hadn't been at the museum beforehand. Joker had brought her with him. He recognised her name too, it was sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Harleen Quinzel stared at him calmly, probably too serenely for someone who had been in such a life threatening situation. It could merely be post-traumatic stress or a defence mechanism but Gordon doubted it. Harleen was not all she seemed.

"Ms Quinzel-"

"Doctor," she corrected.

"Dr Quinzel. I apologise for keeping you here. I understand it must be inconvenient."

"Not at all, Commissioner. I understand the severity of the situation."

Gordon shifted in his chair. "Did he, Joker… did he?" Gordon was having trouble asking the question.

"Did he sexually violate me?" Harleen's tone remained neutral. "No."

Gordon let out a breath, relieved Joker hadn't followed through on this particular threat.

"Do you have any reason why Joker would involve you in such a display?"

There was a pause while she considered the question.

"He knows I'm a psychiatrist." The response was short and simple, lacking much insight.

Gordon nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I read that was your profession. Do you have any association with Julian Crane?"

"Jonathan," she corrected automatically and froze.

Gordon smiled slowly and their eyes met again. He saw something cold stir in their depths but quickly it was replaced by a mischievous glint, her face a picture of charm.

"Touché, Commissioner."

"You wouldn't have admitted to the association?"

Harleen leaned back in her chair and shrugged. "Jonathan and I were friends but his name is not as palatable as it once was. Is this relevant?"

"Just trying to determine what kind of woman The Joker would choose to involve in his games."

Harleen propped her chin up on the table. "Joker dislikes order, descriptions and categories. Psychiatrists try and diagnose everything. Once you give something a name it's less frightening."

"Joker?" He noticed she shortened the normal title he was gifted with.

One shoulder lifted. "We're on a first name basis now."

"Does it make him less frightening?"

"No."

It was the first time he saw genuine fear in her. He was pleased to see a human reaction because he was starting to piece together why he knew her face, her name. She wasn't finished talking yet.

"If we diagnose Joker he wouldn't be a symbol of crazed mania, would he? He would simply be a delusional pathetic man shouting at the ghosts with his fire sticks. You can't send a message if you are weak. I suppose he wanted to make a mockery of the chance I might ever know what's wrong with him."

"What _would_ you say is wrong with The Joker?" Gordon prompted.

"How long do you have?"

"Seriously, Dr Quinzel."

"You're asking my professional opinion?"

Gordon nodded. Her spine straightened and her face turned thoughtful.

"He's smart. Very intelligent and he is well trained. He is charismatic and could quite easily draw a decent following if he invested in subtle methods rather than shock tactics. He is also not nearly as insane as he'd like you to think."

Gordon opened his mouth to protest. No sane man dangled a person tied to a painting out window and set them on fire.

Sensing he disagreed, Harleen didn't allow him to interrupt. "He is deeply disturbed, unhinged, and a sadists and a masochist. But he is calculating and cunning. He is crazy but Joker is no lunatic. Well not entirely."

Gordon didn't like the fondness she spoke about him with but he pressed for more information that would be useful.

"Would this get him out of an insanity plea bargain?" Gordon sounded eager now.

Harleen narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Possibly, if well-argued and supported. But it would be extremely difficult. Why?"

"Because we caught him. Batman got him at the museum."

 **AN: Apologies for the delay. Have been on holiday. I don't often recommend songs but Michelle Branch's Hopeless Romantic is really accurate for this pairing. Please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

Harley didn't allow herself to register the fact her hands were shaking. That would mean processing what had happened. She couldn't do that until she had washed the blood from her face.

It took three attempts to slip the key into the lock. In fact she had only just fitted it in when the door swung open. Harley looked up blankly into Jonathan's face.

"I thought it must have been you," Jonathan said running his gaze over her body, taking in the blood thickly matted in her hair.

"You thought it must have been me what?"

"At the museum," He hooked an arm around her waist. "I'd recognise your ass anywhere, even pressed against glass on prime time."

Harley feebly pushed him away, hands squarely on his chest. "No flirting, Jonathan."

"What's wrong with you?" Jonathan's voice was serious. Harley tried to slide past him but Jonathan grabbed her chin and not gently. Concern filtered across his features as he saw her vacant expression.

Harley wrapped her fingers around his wrist softly. "Jonathan, I'm covered in someone else's blood, I've had no sleep and Joker is captured."

Jonathan searched her face for a moment longer then pulled her into an embrace. Jonathan wasn't a tall man but she fit neatly into his body, head tucked under his chin. Ignoring the fact she was getting blood on him, she clutched his jacket so tightly her knuckles were white. She appreciated he didn't say anything about Joker. This might have cost him his freedom but he didn't comment.

Jonathan was a dangerous influence on her life but at the moment he was the only constant. He was the first to pull away, softly untangling himself. He took her hand and led her into the bathroom.

Harley was as cooperative as a child. Jonathan started the water in the bath and then began easing the zip down on her dress, slowly exposing the soft skin of her back. He couldn't resist trailing the fingers of his free hand down that naked flesh.

His fingers grazing lightly elicited a sharp inhale of breath from Harley.

Jonathan smirked but obviously decided to behave himself. He tested the temperature of the water while Harley removed what remained of her clothing. Modesty didn't matter where Jonathan was concerned.

"It's ready." Jonathan indicated at the water and helped her step into the bath without stumbling. Harley sank gratefully into the warmth, feeling it ease her tense muscles. Jonathan kicked of his shoes and socks. There was just enough room at the end of the bath for someone to sit and Jonathan manoeuvred himself there after rolling up his pant legs. His feet were in the water, legs encasing Harley.

Harley smiled for the first time in a few hours. Jonathan, always so composed in his nice suits, sitting with his feet in water, perched awkwardly on the edge of a bath. Jonathan was too busy reaching for the shampoo to notice her amusement.

Carefully he worked the shampoo into a thick lather in her hair. He took time to massage her scalp, relaxing her, watching the strain leave her shoulders. Harley appreciated his calm.

"So he did what you suggested," said Jonathan.

Harley laughed humourlessly. "In kind."

"It fitted his motive. Lately all his attacks have been random."

Harley shook her head. "He's taunting Batman. Trying to get him to snap. Also…"

"Also what?"

"It's just a theory but I get the feeling he's waiting for something. Something to happen maybe."

"Why do you think that?"

Harley shrugged. "Doesn't matter now. He's gone now."

"He'll be back." He sounded so confident. Harley didn't know how he managed that. Arkham wasn't impossible to escape but it also wasn't easy.

Harley bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't think so."

His fingers dug a little harder into her scalp than before and Harley wondered if he suspected how deep her attachment to the madman now ran. She didn't know what jealousy would look like on Jonathon Crane.

Her hair was clean and smelt good. All traces of blood had disappeared from her face tinging the water red. Harley sat in the water until it started to get cold, Jonathan lightly stroking her shoulders in comforting circles. She wanted to stay there forever where it was safe and protected.

…

"Come on, Harleen." He pulled her out of the water and towelled her dry. Harleen was compliant in his firm but tender hands. With her wet hair combed off her face she looked much younger than thirty and more vulnerable. He knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. With her big cobalt eyes and soft waves of blonde hair, she never looked particularly dangerous, but she was.

He hoped it was deceptive right now. He didn't want to believe that The Joker's incarceration had her so fragile. She hadn't spent enough time with him, and her mind would have to be much more pliable than what it was for The Joker to have converted her so entirely to his side already.

She was just tired and a little shocked after seeing a living man burned before her eyes, he told himself. His mind was reeling behind his neutral face. He was happy that Harleen was safe, even if that meant the Joker was no longer a bargaining chip he could count on. He distantly noted his change of priorities. When he had some time he'd have to consider why he wasn't furious. And of course come up with a new idea to ensure his freedom.

Once she was dried he led her towards the bed. Relief flashed through her eyes at the sight of her comfortable mattress. It was obvious that she desired nothing more than to lie down and sleep but she spared the time to look speculatively at Jonathan. He hesitated, not knowing whether to stay or go.

Tonight was not a typical night in their relationship. Jonathan playing the nurturing type was not a role he assumed. It was so deeply out of character for him to be sensitive, that even he was surprised by how he was behaving.

She must have buried her way deeper into his heart recently with her few encounters with death. He wasn't certain it was a good thing or a bad thing but he would assess it another time. Not tonight.

…

Harley really couldn't have dealt with the virtual minefield their usual interaction was. She scrutinised his overtly handsome face from his fine cheekbones to his disingenuously angelic eyes. Her expression was reflected on his face as they watched each other and tried to ascertain what the next move was.

They were back to their old games and that made Harley sad. It would be nice if this could last the night – she was almost too tired to be wary.

She was feeling an odd sense of despair growing in her stomach. If she paid too much attention to it she knew it would spread to her heart. She wanted a distraction. She wanted Jonathan. If the world was falling to pieces he could maybe hold her together.

Jonathan was about to say goodbye and leave her with her own thoughts when she spoke.

"Stay the night with me."

She wondered if Jonathan felt as startled as he looked. What was she asking of him?

"Just…" She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to stay. "Just hold me, please. I don't want to be alone."

She held his eyes unwaveringly. With that statement she had declared weakness and she expected Jonathan to look triumphant but his expression barely changed.

He slowly took off his clothes until he was as naked as her. Jonathan lay on his back with Harley's head pressed against his chest. Both his arms were wrapped around her and her hands pressed flat against his ribs, their legs entangled. They had as much of their bodies touching as possible.

Harley lingered in wakefulness, just savouring the sensation of Jonathan, warm, alive and whole, against her. His heart beat steadily as he held her tightly to him. She felt secure and safe, not caring when he fell asleep.

Earlier today the world had begun to seem very empty and she wanted to be reminded that there were other people still there.

….

For days Harley thought she was living in a dream and she despised herself for what it implied. Who cared if Joker was gone, in danger, and, perhaps, facing death?

He had wandered into her life, injected some bedlam and heat, and now he was out of it again. As it should be.

Harley had had a lot of free time to think about him, to over-think about him, and she had begun likening Joker to a drug. Unpleasant and overwhelming at first but, as time progressed, exhilarating. Addictive. Fatal. She was well shot of him.

So why did the world seem bland? There were other lunatics, ones who might even worship her or obsess with her, so she didn't need him. In the following days she threw herself into activities. Attending the University, inquiring after jobs, meeting people for lunch. Conducting herself with absolute normalcy.

Harley was mindful of the commissioner's suspicions of her and she didn't want to draw undue attention.

She hadn't sought out Jonathan either after the one night of indulgence. He was a reminder of what had transpired all too recently.

When Harley was honest with herself, she could confess that she missed _him_. His influence and the threat. She had begun this absurd endeavour because she had too much free time and because of Jonathan's request. Then she wanted to be with him of her own volition, interested in living on the edge.

That day, she had come home from lunch early, feigning another appointment but really she desired nothing more than to roll in self-pity for an hour or two. Maybe with a side order of self-mocking and loathing, definitely to be accompanied by a full glass of red wine.

Harley had let herself into her apartment surprised to find a brown package on the floor. Her doorman was still the crazy henchman left in place by Joker and he didn't interact with people unless they asked a direct question, sometimes not even then, so there was no chance he would have forewarned her.

She slowly unwrapped the oddly sized package. Harley raised a trembling hand to her mouth when she realised what it was. _The_ painting. Posted as promised. Also a playing card tucked into the string that rolled the painting up – a Joker.

This could only mean one thing unless Arkham had relaxed their mail regulations significantly.

With barely concealed haste she turned the TV on, flicking through too many channels before she found one espousing the news.

" _And now to other breaking news, the criminal known only as 'The Joker' has been sighted in Gotham. During a scheduled trip to the court, the convoy was over powered by armed assailants."_

Harley grinned immediately and then quelled it, as if she had an audience. She ignored the thrum of excitement in her stomach and focused every inch of her will into being professional and calculating. It was one thing to get emotional about him when he couldn't know and couldn't hurt her. Now he was back she would have to return to detached disregard and a considered, measured response.

Another smile graced her face, one far less sweet than before. Game on, she thought and poured herself a celebratory glass of wine.

…..

Harley had woken up; unsure why, unable to explain the feeling of unease. It was rainy and cold outside, typical of Gotham, and she was warm and safe in her bed.

After her eyes adjusted to the dark and her ears were accustomed to the silence she realised she could hear someone breathing. Someone that certainly wasn't her.

She looked around almost frantically to ascertain where it was coming from.

Harley couldn't see anyone lurking in the shadows and went to stand up. As she made to swing her legs out of bed she found the source of the noise. Joker was curled in the foetal position on the floor. He was half under the bed and Harley noticed with a shock that he was asleep.

Harley went very still, not wanting to wake him, wanting time to think. Why was he here of all places? Did he feel like her home was a safe haven? Maybe he trusted her.

Her hand hovered over his shoulder, ready to rouse him. Her phone on the bedside table lit up and Harley cursed internally, praying the light wouldn't wake him up. She caught sight of Jonathon's name on the screen. His third message. He normally didn't text her more than once a week let alone three times in one evening. Curious despite the intruder on the floor, she checked the messages.

 _I'm sure you know the joker got out today. Be safe. J_

Well, she knew that already; after all he was sleeping on her floor.

 _Given what happened, he might come find you. Maybe you'll be safer at a hotel or at my apartment?_

Jonathon had offered to let her stay with him? That was near unprecedented. She wasn't even sure where he was living these days, given his tendency to visit her at her home.

 _Just let me know you're alright tonight._

He hadn't said anything about trying to use the Joker to his advantage. He hadn't mentioned throwing her back into the lion's den to serve him.

She'd been so concerned with what the Joker meant to her that she'd forgotten Jonathon. This unconscious man was the best way to keep him free and out of jail. Harley could ignore all that and wake Joker, let him pull her back into his world but guilt sat in the pit of stomach. Heavy and unfamiliar.

As carefully as she could Harley rolled to the other side of the bed and pulled out a bedside drawer. This had a whole range of interesting items including a needle filled with strong sedative. Taking into account the amount of unstable strangers she slept with in the past this had seemed a wise precaution.

It would also come in handy tonight.

The back of Joker's neck was exposed. She expertly and deftly slid the needle into his skin. His eyes sprung open but it was too late. His hand wrapped around her ankle, tugging hard.

"Princess?" The word was muddled and confused. He sounded lost enough to pinch the sympathy of most people's hearts. Harley just blinked at him impassively.

He slumped back into a much deeper slumber. She reached for her phone.

….

Joker was dreaming again. He was standing in a world full of misty nothingness that stretched forever. He was strangely aware that _bitch_ had put him here.

He had been exhausted. Days with no sleep and drugs from the asylum still riding his system, he was going to collapse. Frost had done his job, getting him out of Arkham but in the chaos that followed, he'd made the executive decision to abandon the vehicles and let them lead the police away from him.

He'd found himself in the rich part of town. He was close to her apartment and for no logical reason his feet had led him there. He'd staggered along the side walk in the shadows of night and into her building.

Joker had let himself in. Harley was asleep. She didn't even move when he came into her room. The sheets tangled around her middle, her exposed shoulder pale in the dark. Awfully tempting not to just sink teeth into her, but he was swaying where he stood.

He looked at the large bed. Plenty of room for him but he had just laid down on the hard wood floor.

Hadn't that backfired!

He squinted into the murk. There was a shape emerging from the dark. If it was Harley, he was going to teach her a lesson. Even if she was only a construct of his mind it would give him immense satisfaction to beat her senseless.

It wasn't Harley. It was a man dressed all in black.

Joker crowed with delight. "Batman!" he sung out. "Batty, batty, Batman."

The figure just shook his head. He got closer and Joker narrowed his eyes. Now this just didn't make any sense.

"Brian?" He couldn't keep the incredulousness out of his voice.

"Yeah, I know man!" Brian shrugged and sat down in a seat that had previously not been there. The second last time Joker had seen Brian he had been weeping, wailing and begging. The last time he had seen Brian, he had been dead.

"Brian, long time no see. How's it been?" Joker swapped pleasantries, seating himself in another chair that miraculously just happened to be there.

Brian shrugged again. "Not bad, man." This Brian was calm and confident, unperturbed by the presence of his murderer.

"Why you here, Bri Bri?"

Brian looked at Joker like he was an idiot. "You should know, man!"

Joker merely looked confused, not liking this in the slightest.

Brian sighed heavily. "This is your mind. I'm just a construct of it. If I'm here then it's your fault."

"So everything you're saying and doing?"

"You're imagining it. Oh and by the way, I'm almost positive I didn't use the word 'man' in such ridiculous quantities. I _was_ a lawyer."

" _Realllly?_ "

Brian shrugged again. Already that was too annoying for words. "How should I know? You invented it. Did you want to be a lawyer when _you_ were a kid?"

Joker stared at Brian, disconcerted by his gall and utter lack of reaction to him. "I uh, I don't think so. I killed a lawyer once. Think that's got anything to do with it?"

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Possibly. What do you think?"

Joker didn't like the roundabout way things were going. Brian answering every question with another question. He only enjoyed a head spin if he was the instigator.

"But you are the instigator," Brian noted casually.

Joker snarled. "Get out of my head." No one was allowed to read his thoughts. Not even imaginary people.

Brian actually snorted.

"What?" Joker snapped. He was increasingly losing his light hearted whimsical tone. His lack of control bothered him almost as much as the fact the dark, rasping voice he used in his fury had once elicited tears from Brian and now induced nothing but condescension.

"I know you are crazy and everything but you know how nuts its sounds to order a dream out of your head. I am your head."

"You're starting to bug me, Brian."

Brian held up his hands defensively. "This is not my fault. I'm on a script and guess who the writer is." Brian dropped his voice to a stage whisper and pointed at Joker. "It's you."

Joker was starting to wonder whether he could kill Brian again. If he had known the first time round that he was going to end up being such a pain in the ass, he would have made it a more painful demise.

"So are you a regular sufferer of hallucinations?"

Joker shot Brian a scathing look. "Not usually. This is the bitch's fault."

"Bitch? There's a girl involved. Ohhhhh."

"Shut up! She's not a girl. She's a shrew. A dead shrew," Joker amended.

"Joker and the shrew sitting in a tree. K.I.S.S.I.N.G!" Brian sang joyfully then looked ashamed. "That's unfair to make a grown man sing that."

"Believe you me, Bri Bri, if I had any control over this little, uh, pickle you wouldn't be here at all let along _singing_."

"How does that make you feel?"

Joker's tongue darted out of his mouth. "You're starting to sound like her."

"Only because you want me to."

The casual statement snapped something inside Joker. He grabbed Brian, tackling him to the ground and bashed his head hard against the ground. His green hair tumbled forward over his eyes and he bared his metalled teeth at the man.

"So why is this happening, Brian? Why you?" Joker slammed Brian's head against the floor again for emphasis. He was infuriated when Brian giggled. It sounded like him when he sniggered.

"I have no idea. Maybe to resolve some deep seated issue."

"You think this will cure me? That'll I start hugging kittens, get a job and donate money to starving children?"

"Or it could simply be a drug induced hallucination, fuelled by exhaustion and the instability of your mind."

This suggestion was even more frustrating. He had put up with Brian's irritating behaviour for no good reason? Worse. He had created it. He must really be a glutton for punishment.

Joker fished his knife out of his pocket and waved it in front of Brian.

"Point made, Bri Bri. Hey, here's a _nifty_ idea. Wanna hear how I became the way I am?"

"No," Brian answered simply.

"Why not?"

Brian met his gaze purposefully. "Because I already know."

 **AN: bit of a mish mash of Nolan-verse and suicide squad. This is the last chapter that was already drafted, so I expect the coming chapters to be of a high standard as there will only be one style rather than two. A decade does make a difference after all. Please review.**


	10. Chapter 10

"To you."

Harley smiled demurely and raised her glass to meet Jonathon's. It was their first public meal together since his release and he had announced they were going to the best restaurant in town. She suspected it had less to do with the food and more to do with the privacy that came hand in hand with large amounts of money being spent.

But she was hardly going to complain.

"How are you enjoying your freedom?"

"Everyone still hates me," Jonathon surmised casually.

"I don't," Harley pointed out.

"And yours is the only opinion I care about."

"I've missed your blatant flattery," Harley confessed with a grin.

"I've just missed you."

Jonathon's candour was unexpected. Harley looked down at her meal and played with the stem of her wine glass. This wasn't how the game was played. Sure they flirted often and overtly but they seldom addressed the real depth of their relationship. Something had changed since they'd spent the night together and just slept. She'd allowed him to see her vulnerable and he hadn't taken advantage of it. It was uncharacteristic for both of them.

Harley couldn't work out why this openness made her uneasy. After all, she had chosen him over the Joker when she'd plunged that syringe into his neck and called 911.

If she was honest with herself, that was part of the problem. She cared about Jonathon and wanted to help but now that Joker was gone her life was dull and boring. She knew what stirred inside her so uncomfortably. Resentment.

Her throat had constricted painfully when police officers had raided her apartment, strapping Joker onto a hospital gurney to transport him off to the foul depths of Arkham. Even though he was unconscious they had been needlessly rough with his body and Harley had to bite the inside of her cheek to resist telling them to be gentle. This man had terrorised an entire city and was responsible for numerous deaths. It wouldn't look good at all if she rushed to his defence.

Still there had been a single moment of calm when irrationally and impulsively she had reach out to brush her fingers lightly over his knuckles, each bearing a symbol from the card deck. It had been the only gesture of tenderness she'd allowed herself towards him and if he'd been awake, she know she wouldn't have dared.

Gordon had largely managed to keep her name and involvement out of the press but professional circles had still come to know the role she and Jonathon played in the Joker's capture and her phone had been ringing with non-stop offerings of congratulations. Most of them were less than sincere but they had no choice but to respect her now. The job propositions had already started rolling in en-masse but Harley hadn't found one yet that truly appealed to her.

Realising that she had been sitting in silence for too long, Harley cleared her throat. "So what have you planned next?"

Jonathon shrugged, "they took my licence when they arrested me the first time and no matter how much they wanted the Joker imprisoned it wasn't enough for them to consider reinstating it."

"Maybe you can go on the straight and narrow?" Harley suggested and tucked a rogue strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Jonathon quirked an amused eyebrow at her suggestion while his icy blue eyes evaluated her levelly.

"I was honestly thinking of getting out of town for a few months," he said carefully still monitoring her reaction.

Harley stilled and tried to keep her emotions of her face. Resentment aside, Jonathon was the only reason she hadn't fallen into a pit of bitterness and despair, and if he left then what did she have?

"For business?"

"For a holiday."

Harley snorted in the most un-ladylike fashion possible. "You've never taken a holiday in your life."

Jonathon's expression was as serious as she'd ever seen it and that was saying something. "That's the point, Harleen. I've had some time to… evaluate my life. I spent years in a cell and almost lost my sanity for my work."

"You're being dramatic-"

"It wasn't a metaphor! That fear serum was supposed to help me understand a person's greatest horror but when it was turned against me, it almost broke me."

"But you're fine now." She hated the way concern was evident in her voice. This is where honesty got you! It made people raw and anxious.

"Barely. I'm like a glass that's been dropped. Still in one piece but there are half a dozen cracks that you can just barely make out but with the right amount of pressure is shatters."

Harley couldn't even bring herself to mock him for confessing his damaged state. In fact, part of her wanted to take his hand across the table and assure him that everyone was broken to some extent or another and it had no impact on the way she felt for him. Instead she reached for her wine and took a delicate sip trying to calm her thoughts.

When she didn't say anything Jonathon's offered a rueful smile in her direction. "Are you so terribly shocked to find out I'm human?"

Yes. Harley scoffed out loud. "Hardly. The one thing I already knew was how imperfect you were."

"There she is."

With a steadying breath, Harley met his gaze. "I very might miss you. On occasions."

Jonathon couldn't hold her stare and dropped it to the table. The candle light flickered briefly, throwing him half into shadow for the briefest of moments. "What if you didn't have to?"

"Didn't have to what?"

"Miss me?"

Harley didn't understand what he was saying so she waited quietly for him to elaborate.

"If I know you, those job offers you've got have bored you just with the description. So come with me. We both have enough money to keep us in as much luxury as we want until we're satiated and ready to return to work."

Harley gaped at the unanticipated invitation. Not only was Jonathon completely ignoring the established routine between them but he was actively subverting it. He was outright asking her to run away with him and it was an appealing offer. Her fraught nerves would like nothing more than to spend the next month or so lying on a beach by the Aegean Sea. Mornings in the sun and evenings drinking wine and lazing around in a comfortable bed. Jonathon's bed.

It would be a chance to finally explore what existed between them, because it was deeper than just chemistry and physical attraction. A thousand miles would certainly be enough distance between her and a particular madman. Maybe enough to stop thinking about him completely.

Apprehension became excitement. She was going to say yes, she wanted to say yes to him.

As if reading her mind, Jonathon had begun to smile. Harley opened her mouth to make it official.

"Dr. Quinzel?"

Harley's lips sealed in surprise and irritation as she glanced up to see two men in dark clothes standing by their table. They weren't in uniform but she knew from their posture they were cops.

"Yes?" She attempted to thinly veil her irritation.

"Ma'am, I need to ask you to come with us."

"Is she under arrest?" Jonathon interrupted. His face was stormy as he surveyed the intruders.

"No, nothing like that," one of them assured.

"Then what is this about?"

"It's the Joker, ma'am. He's threatening to kill someone if you don't join us at Arkham asylum."

…

Considering how much people liked to believe the human condition was complicated, they were surprisingly easy to manipulate. Joker almost felt sorry for them but the sentiment didn't last long. People were a lot like livestock - not really knowing what they were doing or where they were going, being herded along by the tides of life until they outlived their usefulness and were slaughtered.

A few of the right words and actions, and they'd stupidly taken off the straight jacket. They hadn't even checked to see when his last dose of sedative had been. The blade he'd obtained was ridiculously easy to get too. Were the security guards in Arkham even doing their job?

Those psychiatrists were just so desperate to feel like they were connecting with their patients. Especially him. Establishing rapport with him would be a huge coup for any therapist. Which was probably why he'd earned the attention of the senior doctor in Arkham. Maybe this was the same guy who had treated him last time he was here, Joker honestly couldn't remember. He often had a difficult time holding on to long term memories.

One thing he did remember was the coldness of Harley's face as she had shoved that needle into his neck. He'd been furious when he'd realised she had betrayed him. Furious at her and at himself.

He'd known the whole time that Harley had been working some kind of angle when she wanted to be in his company but honestly it hadn't actually occurred to him that she wanted to capture him, to cage him. He thought she wanted money, excitement, danger and, maybe towards the end of their time together, she wouldn't have objected to a frantic fuck in some filthy alley. He'd certainly considered the idea when he'd used her as a human shield in the museum. Even more so when she'd slapped him. Joker as a general rule preferred to inflict pain than endure it but he'd make an exception for Harley, with her blazing eyes and stinging palm.

At least he would have. Past tense.

He'd been wandering around dazed and confused, probably in dire need of medical attention and he'd foolishly associated their affinity with trust. He could have contacted Frost for help but Harley's apartment was closer.

And now he was in the custody of the Gotham authorities. Absurd. Not even in a funny way.

They'd patched him up and since he was no longer dying, one thought consumed his mind. Revenge. It would be easy enough to escape and kill her but death was too good for Harley. She'd committed the ultimate sin, she had made him trust her. Not completely but enough. That was unforgivable. So he wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine.

Joker was going to make her, not just trust him, but love him. He would become her all-consuming obsession. And when he had become the only thing in her life that mattered, he would vanish from it, breaking her as he left.

He didn't think much of symmetry in general but he did like the poetic irony of this plan.

It would be easy to get her in a room with him and from there he just had to convince her to stay. She wasn't the only one who could lie either.

So now he had a knife pressed against the throat of his currently assigned doctor and the chair wedged under the door. Security was unwisely on the other side of said door and the feeble bolts that were supposed to keep the chair in place hadn't been maintained. A few quick kicks and it had come loose.

His demands had been simple. Get Harley here and the doctor could live. He was just waiting now.

He knew she'd come.

Joker was almost prepared to see her again. Almost.

When her voice crackled over the intercom, fury surged through his blood like acid with desire a close second.

That left a bitter aftertaste. He would have to try and tame any residual lust he felt for her. The fact she had put him here proved that she wasn't nearly as understanding or unique as she had pretended to be. If he couldn't shake those urges, than maybe when he was free, he'd indulge in one roll in the hay. That might actually serve his purpose in making her attached to him.

"You wanted me here, I'm here."

He despised the control in her voice. It was only because she had the safety of distance. She wouldn't be that calm if they were face to face.

"So you come when summoned, what a good dog," he snarled back. Lucky thing the plan involved a certain amount of anger at the start. He couldn't very well be unrealistic could he?

"You got what you wanted, now let him go."

Joker stared at the origins of her voice – a dingy little speaker near the door. He sighed and steeled himself for what came next.

He dropped the blade and released the doctor who made a break for the door immediately, wrenching the chair out of the way. Joker had already lowered himself to his knees because it was better than falling from his feet. This next part was predictable. They could sedate him but they hated and feared him so much they were definitely going to use their tasers. He'd be tasting electricity for a week at least.

…

Harley rubbed at her face. She was exhausted. Joker had been unconscious for hours and they were unwilling to let her leave until she'd had the opportunity to speak to him. If she wasn't so eager herself to talk to him, she might have been annoyed that they'd thought sedatives were necessary after shocking him into oblivion. She hadn't finished her conversation with Jonathan either and she could tell by his expression that he wasn't much happy with her leaving to go to the asylum.

He was strapped to the bed in every conceivable fashion. His wrists were cuffed to steel bars, his legs were in restraints. They'd gone one step further and lashed his torso down too. With him completely out of it, it looked like overkill. Harley knew why they had though. In less than 48 hours he'd managed to wreak havoc at this institution.

His green hair had fallen forward over his forehead and he appeared deceptively harmless. The hair almost obscured his tattoo but it was still there. Publically labelling him a defective.

A man appeared in the corner of Harley's vision and gestured for her to follow him. Harley took one more glance at the Joker's prone form and complied.

Commissioner Gordon was waiting for her in the office of Jeremiah Arkham, the inheritor of the asylum that bore his name. She knew the man by sight alone and already didn't like him. He'd been complicit enough with Jonathon's treatment plans when he saw accolades and awards being flung at Arkham for the revolutionary procedures. He'd been noticeably less supportive when it had spiralled out of control. Though he had advocated for the deal which saw Jonathon exchange the Joker for his freedom so Harley supposed he couldn't be all bad.

Still, she bared her teeth more than necessary when she smiled and took his hand. Commissioner Gordon didn't offer to shake and he was regarding her with more suspicion than she would have liked.

"Seems whenever the Joker is causing trouble, you're involved somehow," he noted, taking a seat and crossing his legs.

"I've already explained the capacity in which I was in his company," Harley retorted dryly, sitting across from Gordon and mirroring his body language. It was a subtle trick to try and subliminally earn his trust. He must have been more wary of her than she thought because he immediately shifted so that his feet were evenly planted and his elbows were on his knees.

Jeremiah took of his glasses and cleaned them. His slumped shoulders indicated he was as tired as Harley. It was well after two am by now.

"Dr Quinzel, we need to discuss his request seriously."

"No one has explained what Joker wants yet? Just that he wanted me here."

Jeremiah shifted with awkwardness. It was likely her reputation had proceeded her too and he obviously didn't have a huge amount of respect for her. "He wants you to be his primary therapist."

"You're joking?"

"Pun intended?" Gordon asked wryly.

Harley ignored him. "He does _not_ want that."

"It is possible he developed an affection for you while you spent time with him?" Jeremiah suggested.

Harley had to fight to keep her composure and not laugh outright. "I'm the reason he's here in this asylum. If he wants me here, it's because it's part of a plan. If you think otherwise, you're as crazy as he is." Something tugged inside to call him crazy, knowing how much he'd rail against the description.

Jeremiah extended his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Dr Quinzel, I categorically agree with you but since we know there is likely an ulterior motive we can move forward with the utmost caution."

"Better to have a starting off point than none at all," Gordon observed.

"Let me clarify – you actually want me to try and _treat_ the Joker?" Harley had heard a lot of outlandish ideas in her time, heck, she'd jumped on board with most of them; but this took the cake.

"You don't think you're up to it?" Gordon asked. The question irked Harley. What would she have to do to prove that she was an exceptionally talented psychiatrist? Obviously something bigger than capturing the Joker. Something like treating the Joker. Her sense of self-preservation groaned loudly as it sensed where she was heading, possibly before her brain caught up.

"It would be immensely difficult, if not impossible," Harley surmised. She pretended not to notice that Gordon and Jeremiah swapped looks.

"More impossible if he won't even talk to the therapist assigned to him," said Jeremiah.

"That would mean I would have to work here?" Harley could barely keep the disdain out of her tone. Arkham wouldn't have even made the shortlist of desirable employment options.

Jeremiah to his credit didn't react to her obvious contempt. "We'll more than compensate you financially. And from what we can tell, you're not yet actively treating patients since returning from Europe."

This was true enough. "I've been giving a number of lectures on my research work and, I'm not sure if you've noticed, capturing Gotham's most notorious criminal."

"For which we're most grateful." Gordon sounded somewhat sarcastic to Harley's ears.

"But it's only half the story," Jeremiah insisted. "Imagine what treating him would do for your career? If you could provide an accurate profile of the Joker and get to the bottom of his past, you'd be unstoppable."

Harley's heart beat slightly faster. She was being played but boy did they know the right buttons to press. His brain was the most mysterious puzzle in Gotham, possibly North America.

"Is there anything that might prevent you from being able to take this role?" Jeremiah prompted.

Harley considered. "Nothing springs to mind."

Jeremiah grinned broadly. "Excellent. Tomorrow we can meet with HR and draw up an employment contract."

Harley wanted to look bored but inside she was exhilarated. She had assumed Joker was out of her life forever but now they'd been brought together again and she couldn't deny, she was excited about the opportunity.

They were prevented from discussing it further by the appearance of a harassed orderly. "He's awake."

"Time to get to work, Doctor." Commissioner Gordon sighed, frown lines furrowing deep around his mouth. He didn't seem as pleased by the turn of events as Jeremiah and Harley were.

Smoothing down her dress subconsciously, Harley stood and followed the orderly back towards the Joker. If her heart had beat fast earlier, it was pounding now in a mixture of fear and anticipation.

His eyes were open when she walked in and they snapped in her direction. She immediately felt like something he wanted to eat. And not in a fun, sexual way. She'd begun to forget the effect his stare could have on her, how it hurt and drew her closer simultaneously. For the first time, she allowed herself to contemplate that maybe she had made a mistake in agreeing to this arrangement.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him softly. Now they were on her turf, she could afford a bit more kindness.

It was unnatural seeing him so still when normally he exuded energy and movement.

"Like I got electrocuted," he advised. His voice was thick and groggy which Harley assumed was the combination of medication and the shock he'd received. Harley inched closer than she was sure was wise considering how dangerous he was assessed to be. But like before, she would endeavour not to reveal that she was scared of him.

"I've agreed to work with you," she informed him quietly.

"Joy," he groaned.

Irritation stirred inside of her. "You asked for me, Joker."

He snarled at her from the bed, head lifting up as much as possible. "Joker is for my friends, not for bitches who turned me into the authorities."

"What would you like me to call you then?" Harley disregard the hissed insult. She'd been called far worse.

"Something more formal. Like, Your Highness?"

Harley rolled her eyes. He'd not given up his predilection for the flashy performance.

"Any other preference?"

"You can call me Mr. J as is befitting for traitorous bitches."

"As you wish," Harley agreed, playing the consummate professional, while her fingers itched to slap him. "But that means no more 'Harley' for you. In here, I'm Doctor Quinzel."

Joker glared as her with scorn. "You're worse than a bitch. Jeez, you're _boring_."

Harley had to admit that hit harder than being called a bitch. She schooled her features into an impassive mask. "Well now you're stuck with this boring bitch as your doctor."

He burst into manic laughter that rippled through his entire body. "I only asked for you because I knew how useless you'd be. Oh Harley, look at you. So silly, standing there playing doctor."

His words tore right through but with superhuman effort Harley maintained a handle on her temper. Instead she rose to her feet. "New rule – I'll end the session as soon as you call me Harley. Starting now. Goodnight Mr. J."

Harley left the room, shutting the door on his raucous cackling. He hadn't made her shake like this since their very first encounter. She should have predicted his motivation for asking for her stemmed from derision. She shoved down the treacherous (and incorrect) part of her that had hoped he'd asked for her because he wanted an excuse to see her again.

She was going to have to stamp out any remaining attraction she had for the man. Not only was it incredibly unprofessional but it was going to get her into trouble. They'd be playing by many more rules in Arkham and the last thing she needed was _her_ license getting revoked.


	11. Chapter 11

If anyone saw Harley walking to her office none of them would be any the wiser to her inner state of frustration and anger. She waited until she had the door closed behind her to groan and drop her head back. A knot of tension had worked its way into the base of her neck and was twinging with every step she took.

Joker was giving her nothing. He may as well have been a brick wall for all he was telling her in the absurdly long sessions they had scheduled. Harley had been eager to treat the Joker but even she thought they were spending too much (futile) time together. But the asylum upper management had a hard on for all the publicity his incarceration was generating. After all, Arkham was going to cure The Joker. Or more specifically, she was.

Harley was a realist for all her faults. And she was starting to view that game plan as more than unlikely. Closer to impossible.

Joker was saying nothing of value but that certainly didn't mean he wasn't saying anything. In fact, he talked. A lot. And none of it was flattering. The only thing he seemed to get any pleasure out of was needling Harley, working little barbs under her skin. That in itself was nothing new but Harley couldn't help but notice that the underlying tone had changed. His insults no longer came from a place of gleeful intrigue but meanness. Harley suspected that Joker well and truly hated her.

Not that she could even blame him. She blamed herself. Harley had put him in a cage, and a caged Joker was an entirely different animal. He scared her less now but he managed to hurt her more. The first few weeks they'd spent together, she'd scolded herself for taking it so personally. Harley had been called many names across the years, some to her face, most behind her back. She'd developed a thick skin. But Joker, or Mr. J as he was insisting she call him now, had an uncanny ability to say something that cut through all those walls she'd spent years building up. A month in, a month of zero progress, and she was more willing to be honest with herself. He was an asshole and at the end of some days, he'd sanded her feelings down into a raw mess.

She rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles. To add to it, Harley wasn't sleeping. She would either toss and turn the night away or she'd have dreams so vivid that they shocked her awake.

A few times she'd reached for her phone in the middle of the night to call Jonathon but would always stop herself from texting and calling him. Reaching out for him would do nothing since he was no longer in the city. She could have still vented to him of course and she knew he'd listen and even know the right thing to say. But part of Harley was still too proud to admit any weakness to Jonathon.

No, Jonathon would be most useful if he was there in person. With his glacial eyes that were cold and distant but never malicious. Harley could admit that right now she didn't need Jonathon's words, she need _him_ \- his body, his long, fine fingers.

She wanted him to chase all thoughts of the Joker out of her mind and erase her body's memory of him. She wanted to be fucked into oblivion. And then she wanted to sit across from Joker the next day and tell him about the encounter in slow, exacting detail.

It was completely messed up but the fantasy was the only thing that kept her sane.

Harley let out a long sigh and composed her face. If she wasn't going to let Jonathon in to her reeling mind, then she sure as hell wasn't going to let her colleagues know. They already whispered about her enough.

She made it back to her apartment in record time. She had tested a few speed limits on her way, part of her hoping to get pulled over. The small spike of adrenaline didn't last long enough and a run in the cops would have prolonged the hit. Harley would have even settled for Gordon. Harley got the feeling he didn't like her much more than the Joker did. He was as straight laced as they came and his instincts were clearly telling him Harley wasn't everything she seemed. He was right and that was annoying. Was she become more transparent as she got older?

Pouring a large glass of wine, emptying the bottle and putting it next to the growing pile in her recycling, Harley stared out the window. The empty night stretched before her and she couldn't motivate herself to fill it. Self-aware enough to know this was unhealthy, but not invested enough to do anything about it.

Half a dozen lectures about self-care flashed through her mind. Psychiatrists and psychologists were both encouraged to see professionals themselves. Turns out being exposed to trauma, illness and sadness on a daily basis could be overwhelming. Her fingers itched to call Jonathon again.

Warmth blossomed in her chest. She was angry at herself. Her prized independence was vanishing like smoke on the wind. The glass of wine was deposited on the bench, still mostly full. Snatching up the phone, she scrolled past Jonathon in her contacts to Taylor.

…

Another shot was slid in front of Harley. Already pleasantly tipsy, another shot would take her across the line into drunk.

"Taylor, I have to work tomorrow."

Her protests fell on deaf ears. "I'm doing one," Taylor shot back with a grin. "Don't be lame."

"You don't have to get up early tomorrow!"

The bar had gotten louder as the night had gotten later. The heat clung to her skin, forcing Harley to scrape her hair up into a bun on the top of her head. They'd been joined by a group of twenty-somethings; college students high on completing finals for the semester. One of the girls, a pretty woman with mischievous eyes and dark ringlets around her face, leaned in to Harley and smiled.

"C'mon, you can't say no to a shot!"

Her hand had come to rest on Harley's thigh, higher than was friendly. Harley glanced down at the hand, bubble-gum pink nails vivid against the black of Harley's dress.

"Nice girls say no to shots," Harley retorted, matching her smile.

"Are you a nice girl?"

Harley met her gaze. "No." She did the shot and held out her hand. "I'm Harleen. We never officially met."

The girl shook her hand. "Alysha." The confidence had become endearing shyness under the intensity of Harley's look. Alysha had wanted her attention and now she had it.

Harley sized the girl up. Early twenties, quick to smile, friendly. Alysha was a nice woman. It was easy to tell. She had no business flirting with Harley but her palm was warm against her skin, she smelled edible and Harley's impulse control was shot to hell.

"Want to go somewhere quieter?" Harley suggested.

…

Alysha lived in a reasonable neighbourhood – decent even for a college student. They'd left her housemates behind in the bar with Taylor, who had waved at her as she'd left.

In the quiet of her home, Alysha was less sure of herself. Perhaps she hadn't thought her advances would be successful or that Harley would take control so quickly. She blinked a little too rapidly, like surprised prey.

Alysha's wide eyes took in Harley as she let her hair tumble down around her shoulders and it evoked an unexpected kindness in her.

"This is a one night kind of deal," Harley explained abruptly. "It can't be anything more."

Alysha licked her lips and swallowed. "Do you have a partner?"

Harley shook her head. "My situation is complicated." That was possibly the understatement of the day but she didn't particularly want to go into the details of her messy life, just let Alysha know where she stood. Jesus, she was getting soft.

When the silence stretched for a minute longer than comfortable. Harley spoke again. "I can leave if you're uncomfortable?"

Harley would prefer to stay, she wanted to wrap herself around Alysha and channel the last month's crappiness into something better. But not if Alysha wasn't interested.

"Stay."

Harley closed the distance between them, threaded her fingers through those lovely curls and kissed Alysha like she was the only thing that could keep her alive.

…

Joker had kicked his feet up onto the table in front of him and narrowed his eyes. Something was different about his therapist today and he wasn't sure he liked it.

For the last month he'd been enjoying watching the affect he was having on her. Dark circles under her eyes, colour leeching out of her already pale complexion. Today though, she appeared well-rested and there was a becoming flush to her cheeks. And god dammit was that a smile?

Joker scowled at Harley from across the room. Even from there he could practically smell the sex on her and it was irritating. There was something jagged in his chest, something that he wanted to scratch at but couldn't. He was supposed to be consuming her existence, what the hell was she doing seeking out other people? Getting fucked by other people?

He briefly imagined her sliding into his lap, fingers fumbling with his belt. Though he supposed Harley wouldn't fumble and there was no belt to speak of with these shitty, bland hospital clothes. For some reason they didn't trust him not to wreak havoc with a belt.

Still the thought of Harley, pulling on his hair so hard it hurt, biting his neck, was enough to stir something inside of him. He abruptly shoved his legs off the table and onto the ground so he was sitting properly and the table was covering his lap.

An erection would send the wrong message to Dr. Harleen Quinzel. He was trying to screw with her mind, not screw her literally. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself.

He swore under his breath. She was like stepping in glass. It stung and buried into your skin and you had to pull it out piece by piece. And as confident as you were that you'd got it all, one day you'd be walking along and a sharp pain would remind you that there was still bits left behind.

Harley finished her conversation with the orderly and met his gaze across the room. He bared his teeth at her and she didn't even flinch. He fumbled with the pudding cup in front of him. It would have gone a lot easier if his wrists weren't handcuffed. Still, it was the lesser of two evils. They'd made him chose; restraints or sedatives. He'd forgone the chemical fog.

Harley plucked it out of his hands and opened it with an enviable ease. Joker knew better than to think she was motivated by kindness. It was a power play.

"How are you today, Mr. J?" she asked with detached politeness that set his teeth on edge. He barely recognised the woman in front of him. Where was the woman who had threatened to stab out his eyes? The one who had tasted like blood when he'd kissed her. Good thing he'd already decided to make her life a living hell. This bland doctor performance would be enough to make him want to carve her up regardless.

"Spectacular!" He offered her a sharp, crooked grin.

"I hope you're feeling more cooperative for our session tomorrow?" Harley asked, taking the seat opposite him.

"I can't wait to share. I want to tell you all my trauma with a smile on my face." For emphasis he splayed the tattoo grin on his hand. It hid his glower.

"I'd like that," Harley said evenly, surveying him across the table. Her neutrality was infuriating.

"You'd know what I'd like? To stab you. Maybe we'll both get what we want?"

Harley raised an eyebrow and suddenly there was a foot pressing against his crotch. Joker jumped at the unexpected pain. Harley's expression barely changed but he saw a flicker of something in her eyes that got his attention.

"Now, Mr. J," Harley continued like she wasn't holding a stiletto against a part of him he was very attached to, "You know how I feel about stabbing."

Not moving an inch, he growled, "If you don't damage anything, I'll change your mind about getting stuck with something hard."

"Don't be crude," she scolded, a muscle in her jaw tensed. So that had affected her? Her eyes were steely as they looked at each other. Joker could barely repress the shiver of excitement that ran up his spine. He realised he hadn't seen the real Harley in over a month. This Harley he liked. Not enough to forget that she'd betrayed him but enough that he could have a bit of fun.

Joker smoothed the anger out of his expression. "My, my Doctor, you're tough today? Where'd you get these balls? You take them from whoever put that spring in your step this morning?" Each word smacked on his lips.

"I leave my lovers one piece after I'm done with them."

Joker barked out a laugh. "Somehow I doubt that. Tell me he's at least limping."

"She's fine. And I'm sure very touched by your concern."

"Huh." Joker sat back in his chair, all his witty insults undermined by the change of genitals. He considered Harley. She didn't appear to be uncomfortable with the delve into her personal business. It occurred to him that she had wanted to tell him. Maybe she wanted to rub in his face that she was free and could do whatever she pleased. Maybe she wanted him to think about her in the throes of passion.

"Out of ideas?" she prompted when he hadn't spoken for a while. Her foot was still between his thighs.

"Maybe it's the lack of sustenance?" he suggested, holding up the pudding cup. "I haven't had solid food for a week."

"Nothing wrong with pudding."

"You try eating it for a month."

"Poor you," she said snidely, with a complete absence of real sympathy.

"I would kill you right now if I could, Harl-" The foot shoved forward, making him hiss in pain.

"What did I tell you?" she asked mildly.

"Dr. Quinzel," he gritted out, pain keeping him in place.

"I'll make you a deal Joker."

He glared at her for using the name he'd told her not too even though she'd just ground her heel into his dick for the same boldness.

"You cooperate in our next session, I'll make sure you have steak for dinner tomorrow night."

It made him pause. He was thoroughly sick of eating the mushed up crap they kept feeding him. "Rare?"

"As bloody as you want it." She made it sound like she was offering him something else other than food.

"I'll think about it," he allowed. Just like that the pressure was relieved and Harley was standing. To his immense disgust, he realised the pain had made him hard.

"You do that." She bent so she was speaking directly into his ear, her lips brushing against him. "See you tomorrow, Puddin'."

As soon as she was gone, he cursed. He'd had his ass kicked in that round. She'd run rings around him. But she was getting easier to read and the pulse jumping in her jugular didn't lie.

Joker got the attention of the guard who approached warily. The fear was a welcome change after Harley's obvious lack of it.

"Get me the sedative, I want these cuffs off me."

The guard hesitated.

"Go!" Joker shouted. He needed his hands free to deal with the problem Harley had left in her wake. Either that or enough drugs to take the edge off.

…

Harley kicked off her shoes when she walked into her house, for once defeat didn't hover over her.

For the first time, she could offer Joker something he wanted more than tormenting her. That might be his ultimate goal but he would press pause for a few seconds if it meant feeling less like a captured invalid.

She practically vibrated with new energy and the high of power. It was only temporary, Harley knew that, but for a few moments today, she'd had control of him. They'd both felt it, that much was clear from his eyes which regarded her with anger and thinly disguised attraction. She'd hurt him and that had turned him on.

And like dominos falling, that in turn sent blood and heat pulsating through her body. Good thing she'd had her encounter with sweet Alysha the night before because Harley didn't think she'd be much in the mood for sweet tonight. And Harley suspected that Alysha's tastes didn't run as aggressive as hers did.

Harley poured a small glass of wine and opened her laptop. Now that she'd gained an inch, there was no way she wasn't going in prepared. She needed to know exactly what to say, ask and do tomorrow. It was slightly pre-emptive but Harley could feel it in her bones that he was going to make the trade – cooperation for a decent meal.

She was so focused on her task at hand that answered her ringing phone without looking at the caller ID.

"Yes?"

"Such a warm greeting, Harleen. I can't imagine for the life of me why you don't have more friends?"

The teasing tone jerked attention away from her computer screen to the person on the other side of the phone.

"Jonathon?"

"I wanted to see how you were. I haven't heard from you in a while."

There was no accusation or hurt to his words but then again it was harder to tell over the phone and even harder when it was Jonathon saying them. Harley had come to rely on the muscles in his jaw, the shadows in his eyes, to decode whether he was speaking truthfully or not.

"I haven't heard from you either," she pointed out, forcing herself to sound casual even though just his voice twisted her stomach up into knots. She hadn't been entirely sure whether her decision to stay in Gotham had done some damage to their relationship.

"I guess we're both guilty of being bad friends." There was the briefest of pauses before he said the word friends.

"I'm probably worse," Harley offered, hoping to lighten the conversation. She'd wanted to talk Jonathon so much since he'd left and now that she had him on the phone, she didn't want him to be serious, she hoped he'd make her smile.

"Oh indisputably. But I couldn't be the best at everything and I already got the good looks of the pair of us."

Harley snorted inelegantly at that comment. "Clearly I get modesty under my name too then?"

"No one as beautiful as you is modest," Jonathon countered.

Harley shifted the computer onto the coffee table and leaned back into the sofa, curling her free hand around the glass of wine.

"Alright, handsome, how about you catch me up on what you've been doing?"

"Aside from missing you?"

Harley's breath caught in her throat. He wasn't supposed to say stuff like that, it was against their rules. But he'd been breaking them since before he'd left. She had too. Hearing him talk like that scared her but she also didn't hate it.

So she didn't mock him for his sentimentality, which she would have done not two months ago.

"Aside from that."

"Are you sure you want to know? It might make you jealous; all the good food and wine I've had."

Harley grinned softly. "I still want to hear. See how jealous you can make me."

"Well tonight I had lobster with this delicious butter sauce."

"Sounds sinfully amazing." Harley tucked her feet up underneath her.

"That's nothing. There were also truffles and a delightful bottle of Alentejano."

"Oh god, don't stop!" Harley cried, in exaggerated excitement.

Jonathon chuckled and it was warm and masculine.

"You did make me jealous. I kinda wish I'd gone with you."

The words were out before Harley could second guess them.

"You made the right decision."

"Did I though?" She could hear how vulnerable she sounded.

"You needed to stay and see this through. If you'd come you would have always wondered what if. And I wouldn't have accepted your divided attention."

The familiarity of Jonathon's words grounded her. So much has changed and yet he in some ways he was still the same man she'd known since university.

"You're right," Harley agreed, affecting an air of confidence and arrogance.

"Usually am," he said, echoing her. "Unfortunately, I have to go but I'll try and be in touch more regularly."

"That wouldn't be completely unwelcome," Harley informed him dryly.

"I want to see if I can make you say 'Oh God, don't stop' again. I quite liked hearing that."

Harley raised her eyebrows, that tightness in her stomach becoming hollow at his words. Why was it that two of the most dangerous men she'd ever met made her feel like that? Probably didn't speak much to her own mental state.

"Deal," Harley said hoarsely before they both said loaded farewells.

Harley glanced at her computer screen and could think of nothing but those cool blue eyes heating as they raked over her body. She groaned. Talking to Jonathon had proved exactly what she needed but incredibly distracting all the same.

She switched her phone off and tossed it to the side. Tomorrow demanded her focus.

 **AN: hi all, thought I would check in, say hi and explain that violence and sex are going to be increasingly visited themes as this story progresses and I don't want anyone to be unprepared. In fact, if anyone comes across some content that you believe warrants a trigger warning in the actual summary, please let me know.**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'd love to know what you think about this one.**

Joker tested the handcuffs against the metal loop in the table. Pretty sturdy. He wasn't going anywhere.

Not that he had any real inclination to leave. Harley was sitting across from him, studiously ignoring his presence while she flipped through a file. Joker was tempted to call it a power play if she weren't so convincingly absorbed by the documents. Her hair had been scraped into a sensible ponytail and she was wearing glasses. There were lines between her eyebrows as she read the piece of paper in front of her. Even from where he was sitting he could see that it was decorated in a dozen places with her loopy handwriting.

As tempting as it was to be disruptive, he waited without comment. He didn't have much faith in whatever method the good doctor was going to be exploring today and he could give her hell tomorrow but frankly he'd trade one of his fingers for a decent meal. His cooperation was only slightly less difficult to promise.

He tried to read some of the printed words but he couldn't get a good view. Instead he let himself be absorbed by the rhythmic tapping of Harley's foot as she read on. Not many people would take their focus off Joker while he was in the same room but Harley either wasn't like most people or she was comforted by the restraints. He couldn't say which.

Finally she put down the folder and fixed him with a stare across the table. Joker lifted his attention from the swivel of her ankle and settled into his chair more comfortably.

"What's on the agenda today, Doctor Quinzel?"

He was the picture of politeness and that evoked a suspicious response from Harley, who narrowed her eyes at him.

"Are you still planning on being more obliging this session?"

"I'm not really into 'planning.'" He air quoted the word with his fingers but shot a charming smile at her. "But I'll do my very best."

Harley's mouth pursed into what he guessed was a poorly repressed smirk. "I'll take your 'very best.'" She used air quotes right back at him but her movements didn't produce clanking metal sounds.

"If whatever you're thinking doesn't work, I still get food? Like your failures don't adversely impact me, right?"

"What makes you think I'll fail?"

He wrinkled his nose. "No offense, Doc. But I'm still insane." Joker swirled his finger near his temple. "Don't really think you're all that good at this therapy business."

"Yeah you and half of Gotham."

Joker cocked his head in interest. Her response was so sharp it was broken glass. That had hit nerve.

"Do you have a yelp page I could review?" he leaned forward, grin wider than before.

Harley shrugged and unexpectedly closing the distance between them. "Probably. You think any of them had the balls to say it to my face?"

There was a long pause as they examined each other. "You smell nice."

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it hadn't been that. Colour rose in her neck. He flustered her.

Joker regarded her like a lazy cat, careful to keep the triumph off his face. Harley's shadows might be well hidden by her beauty, by her poise, but he could see them. And if he could see them, then he could exploit them. It was only a matter of time before he had her all tangled up so she didn't know where she stopped and he began.

"We should start."

Putting his chin in his palm despite the awkward angle and blinking innocently he said, "I'm all ears, Doc."

Harley cleared her throat and reconstructed her professionalism before his eyes.

"Today we'll try hypnotherapy."

A laugh surged out of his throat. "You want to hypnotise me? I'm crazy not a fucking idiot," he cackled.

Harley was unimpressed by his outburst. "I've had success with this method before. If it doesn't work so be it but your mind could use a bit of order."

"Why do ya say that?"

"Because you're crazy," she retorted it like it was obvious.

"Don't say that," he growled.

Harley was instantly smug. "Fascinating. You hate that word so much but use it yourself."

"It's rude."

She shook her head. "No. That's not the reaction of someone offended. You're outraged."

Joker slumped back in his chair, testing the chains again. Probably it was a good thing they were there because right now he was fighting the impulse to wrap them around her neck until her skin turned blue and she stopped struggling.

"God, you look murderous." She was leaning forward again, teeth tugging on her bottom lip.

"Maybe you're not as crap at your job as I thought," he snarled, breathing heavily. She was enjoying his loss of control, edging closer to the danger. He fought to get control. It was too soon to give her anything she wanted yet.

For a brief second, Joker wasn't sure if she was going to keep coming across the distance. She didn't and he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Worse he didn't know what he would have done if he could have laid hands on her. He wanted to think he'd hurt her but he wasn't so sure. There was another instinct competing for control.

"Let's get on with it," he commanded curtly, shaking back the hair that had fallen in his eyes.

"Close your eyes."

He rolled them first but ultimately complied.

"I want you to listen to the sound of my voice and think of nothing but your breathing. Don't try and change it, just observe."

Harley's voice was level and soft but in the quite room it was easy to listen to. He paid no attention to his breathing though. He only had to look like he was being cooperative after all.

"As you breathe in and out, I want you to relax your muscles one by one."

Maybe it was the drugs they'd given him yesterday but his shoulders did lose some of their tension and his head started to nod forward. Maybe this whole exercise wouldn't be a waste of time and he could have a nap.

"There is nothing that can hurt you right now. You have the sound of my voice and the sound of your breathing and you're safe."

That was obvious. Harley was hardly going to hurt him if she was fixated on helping him.

"Now I want you to imagine you're in a white room. No clutter, no objects and no other colours. Just a white room as large or as small as you want it."

Despite his best efforts to be contrary, Joker could see the room. It was so white it was blinding and big enough that he couldn't see the walls on any side.

"Hold that image and that's all I want. Don't try and think anything specifically, just let thoughts come and go as they please."

Joker was mostly thinking that this was all a crock of shit and was very tempted to tell her so. He was just about to open his mouth to share _his thoughts_ with the doctor when movement in the far distance caught his attention.

He squeezed eyes shut harder, focused on the way the white room was morphing with no input from himself. He didn't like this. His thoughts were untrustworthy. Clouds were rolling in, dark purple storm clouds. Lightening lit it up from the inside out. He expected thunder to follow but waves of screams echoed instead.

Joker flinched, his fingers curling into fists. There was another bright flash of lightening and more screams and the storm moved ever closer.

Another round of shrieking and words now but too faint for him to hear. It wasn't many people screaming though. It was one and it sounded like a child.

He wanted to open his eyes now but he was frozen, every muscle in his body turned to steel in his confusion.

A small child was suddenly before him with big wide eyes, grasping at his shirt. "Help me!"

Joker jerked to his feet, trying to get as far away from the table as he could but the restraints stopped him. Harley was standing with her hands outstretched, trying to say something but he couldn't hear words.

"Let me out of here. Let me out of here now." He kicked at the chair sending it skidding across the floor. Guards burst in tasers out.

"No!" Harley shouted, suddenly appearing between him and them. "Take him to the soft room and take his handcuffs off. No drugs or shocks."

The guards eyed her sceptically, Joker paced like a caged animal all the while. His wrists were sore and probably bleeding.

"What did you do?" he snapped at Harley as more reinforcements arrived and four men wrestled him down the hallway to the padded room. They managed to unlock the cuffs and shove him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Joker screamed and punched and kicked until his heart rate slowed and then he curled up into the corner of the room periodically tugging at his hair and slapping the side of his head.

…

"I need you to get me out of here," Joker rasped. He was handcuffed again but his wrists had been bandaged since.

They'd left him in the room for a few hours before drugging him and letting him sleep it off. When he'd woken up he'd demanded to see his lawyer.

Of course his lawyer was Frost, dressed up in a nicer suit than usual. His jaw tensed when Joker mentioned escape, even though they both knew it was illegal to record conversations with counsel.

"That wasn't the plan, boss."

"I'm changing it!" he snapped in response. "I'm not staying in this shit hole a second longer than I need."

"I thought you wanted to get revenge." Frost managed to speak in an even, placating tone that wasn't condescending. It was probably the reason he'd held onto his life for so long.

"Screw that. It's not worth it if she's going to poke around in my brain."

"It's your call. I can have you out in a week." Frost was matter of fact, never over confident.

"Good. I want to go straight to the club. I want mindless techno and a bunch of dumb blondes to have in my bed."

If Frost thought this request was symbolic, he wisely kept it to himself.

"It's done." Frost got to his feet and straightened his suit. "I'll schedule a visit beforehand to prepare you."

The guards came to collect him treating him like a bomb that may go off at any time.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked when it became obvious they weren't taking him back to the cell he spent most of time.

"Doctor Quinzel wants you in her office."

"I wonder why," one of the guards muttered under his breath but loud enough for Joker to hear both his words and the disgust in his tone.

Joker tilted his head to look at him, though he kept his eyes forward. His mouth was contorted in a sneer. They may hate and fear him in equal measure but they clearly did not think much of his therapist either.

Joker tripped over his feet and when they went to grab him and stop him from falling he drove his elbow hard into the stomach of the one who had spoken.

"So sorry, I'm so clumsy," he cried, smiling the whole time. "It's all those drugs."

The guard he'd struck was doubled over, winded and Joker still wanted to kick him.

"Fucking clown hit me!" the guard complained.

"Get up, Jason!" one of his colleagues snapped back.

"Yeah Jason, get up," Joker chimed in. He mentally added another name to the list of people he'd kill if he ever got the chance. He would have done if for the clown crack, his attitude to Harley had nothing to do with it at all.

Harley was waiting for him in the doorway to her office. "I'll take it from here."

"Are you sure that's wise, Doctor?" the guards were hesitant to turn him over to her custody.

"I can handle it." She reached over and grabbed the chains that bound his wrists. Her fingers brushed his briefly and Joker wanted to break a finger after what she'd done to him the day before.

Harley shooed the guards away and guided him into her office. She deftly changed his handcuffs so one hand was bound to her desk but the other was free.

"How is your wrist?"

"Peachy," he spat out, looking around the room and identifying pens, trophies, a letter opener. Lots of sharp objects and one whole free hand.

"Sure," she retorted before returning back to the office doorway where someone else had suddenly appeared. The woman shot a frightened look in his direction before handing over whatever she was holding to Harley.

She toed the door shut behind her and then kicked her shoes off. She was instantly two inches shorter than him.

As she padded around the other side of the desk, Joker sized up the letter opener. He could probably grab it and reach her before she'd have time to shout for help. Though Frost would be mad as hell if he managed to get himself put in high security for killing a doctor.

"Have a seat," Harley invited, speaking to him as if he were a welcome guest and not one of the most terrifying criminals Gotham had ever known.

Confused by her casualness and defused by picturing Frost's frustration, he sunk into the chair which was more comfortable than all the chairs he'd sat in since getting to Arkham and possibly his bed as well.

Harley fussed with the trays before sliding one to him. The tray itself was standard asylum issue. Plastic and relatively flimsy but on top was something near unprecedented.

Steam rose from the large steak that sat front and centre; his mouth instantly began to water at the sight of it.

"I didn't know what else you wanted with the steak so I improvised."

There was a heap of seasoned, roasted vegetables on the side. Harley had put salt and pepper within arm's reach too.

"You did good."

"Thanks, puddin'."

Joker levelled her with a withering glare but she just winked in response. After some rustling in her draw she also produced a steak knife and a fork.

"Don't tell them I gave you this."

Joker picked up the knife in disbelief. It was possible that Harley had a death wish. Maybe she was banking on him being more interested in the food than killing her.

"Why?"

"A deal's a deal. You held up your end today-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Not asking you to," she replied. She reached for a bottle of scotch that was tucked away amongst the books. "Don't tell them about this either," she requested before pouring a finger into two glasses and pushing one to him.

"Jeez you're sexy when you're unprofessional."

Harley snorted. "I'm sexy all the time," she dismissed but he still noticed that creep of colour that inched along her skin when he complimented her.

Seeing no point to stand on ceremony, Joker dug into his food with delight. The doctor followed suit but in a more delicate manner.

The steak was so rare it was bloody, just the way he'd wanted. The scotch disappeared in one mouthful and it was almost unfairly good. Expensive and polished, just like everything else the doctor seemed to like.

"Isn't your boyfriend jealous you're spending all your time with me?"

"He'd have to exist to care."

Joker noticed her jaw tense before she spoke. So she wasn't telling the complete truth about no boyfriend. His hold on the knife tightened but he didn't comment.

"What were you like as a child?" he asked, surprising both of them with the unexpected question.

"Shorter."

Joker laughed. "Funny. Were you always a put together princess who wanted to meddle with people's brains?"

"I was poor."

"Huh."

"Poor and my dad was in and out of jail and my mum worked three jobs to keep the heat on. Is that what you wanted to know?"

She was throwing up walls–that much was clear but he'd never learned to leave well enough alone. Besides, she deserved a little discomfort after yesterday. He'd have to start giving the doc and her abilities a little more credit. No other shrink had managed to rattle him before now and all she'd done was turn him lose in his own head.

"And you magically became this?" he gestured at her with his knife. Classy dress, flawless make up; as close to perfect as a human could get.

"I worked really, really hard."

"No way, me too," he teased, baring those metal teeth in her direction and tapping his now empty glass to see what she'd do. One alcoholic drink might be kindness, two would be reckless. She refilled the glass.

"You go to summer camp for bad guys?"

"Something like that. You? Summer camp for meddling assholes?"

"More like almost a decade of university."

Joker snorted. "University is for boring people."

Harley lifted her eyebrows and he continued to eat while absorbing all the details he could to better turn them against her later.

"Scholarship," she abruptly said. "I got a gymnastic scholarship."

"So you're… bendy?"

Harley took a small sip of her drink which had been untouched so far. "Super bendy. But unless you're going to the Olympics then there isn't much future."

"And now here you are."

"Yep."

He was going to ask more questions but she cut him off.

"What about you? Any hobbies that don't include blood or-"

"Bending?"

"Or bending?"

Joker smacked his lips and thought about it. "I like to have fun."

"We established 'bending' didn't count as a hobby."

"I'm not talking about sex, though there is so much of that."

They locked eyes for a heartbeat.

"I like going fast. Nothing like a nice car."

"Why do you like it so much?"

He wagged his finger in her direction. "No psychoanalysing, Harls."

It was a risk to use her name. She was liable to send him back to his room for the mere mention of it.

"I'm not."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Making conversation, I suppose."

Joker's forehead creased. "That's different."

"It really is."


	13. Chapter 13

Joker rolled his shoulders, heard something crack in his neck, and grimaced at the blond across the table from him. She seemed more distant than usual, more than the table dividing them. Gone was the brief warmth that had seemed to exist between them last night. He was a bit disappointed to see that she regarded him neutrally – where had the blood gone from her eyes?

Still, his restraints were on but they weren't as tight as they had been and he had to believe that was due to her intercession. So he hadn't imagined the progress they'd made. When she had eventually sent him back to his cell, he'd grinned at the ceiling for a long time before falling asleep, luxuriating in the buzz of the alcohol and the coy glances Harley had shot him. He was circling her like a shark now and she had no idea that she was nothing more than prey.

It was her own fault really. He might be feeding her an illusion but she was eating that shit up. Telling him about her childhood and her scholarship. They were all chinks in her armour. And he'd given her nothing in return. Except that little factoid about his weakness for cars. Honestly that offering had surprised him but it seemed inconsequential.

It was reassuring to cling to that sense of victory now in the sterile and impersonal treatment room. If his thoughts weren't consumed with the doctor and ensuring her eventual deterioration then there was room left over in his brain for that child.

There was something incredibly familiar about that child, about the fear in his eyes as he had grabbed at him. But what exactly was the irritant. Joker cursed his frayed memory even though he knew he didn't really want the curtain swept aside so he could see whatever had been left behind in his mind.

Joker expected Harley to bring it up but thankfully she had steered clear. Instead she wanted to talk about Brian. Joker had sneered at the name.

"You don't want to talk about him?"

He affected a one shoulder shrug, snapping his blank eyes up to rest on her face. "Do you want to talk about everyone I've killed?"

She tilted her head in response. He didn't recognise this woman, this professional made of porcelain. If the Harley that looked like she'd kill you and dance as you died was there, maybe it wouldn't be so easy to not answer her questions. If his Harley was there. _His_ Harley? Jesus Christ! His in that he would own her before long and in no other way.

"Is there someone you'd prefer to talk about killing, Mr. J?" she asked evenly, not at all perturbed by the reference to murder.

He rolled his eyes and sunk lower in his chair and flicked his hair out of his eyes. The red light of the camera was absent. She wasn't filming this session, which wasn't entirely out of the ordinary. Harley seemed to pick and choose when to record on a whim.

"Brian is as good as the next one."

"Did you chose him for a reason?"

"Doc, you are asking a lot of dumb questions today. A rookie could tell you I picked him for his choice in outfit."

He was gratified to see her react to that insult. Her jaw tensed to his smug satisfaction.

She folded her hands on top of the metal and leaned forward. "I guess I was hoping you wouldn't be as predictable as all that."

There was a razor fine sharpness behind her words. Enough to make him grin lopsidedly at her.

"Not even I'm interesting all the time, Harley."

"I doubt that, Puddin'."

Joker yanked on his restraints. "Don't call me that."

It was her turn to look at him arrogantly. For all her pleasant professionalism she sure enjoyed rattling his cage.

"What about you, Doctor? Whose death do you want to talk about?"

Harley lifted her eyebrows, suitably surprised by that question.

"I've never killed anyone."

"You think?" He pretended to be confused. "You had a number of opportunities to put me behind bars but didn't. How many people died because of that choice?"

"Fuck you," she breathed so softly he was half-convinced she didn't say anything at all. If her blue eyes weren't cold as ice, he'd half believe it too. Moving with a swiftness that he didn't expect, her hand flashed closed the space between them and she grasped his chain, pulling him forward.

"I got you here in the end didn't I?"

Her anger was a quiet thing, different to his volatile explosions of rage, though he knew down to his bones that she might be no less dangerous than he was. There was hate there and a desire to hurt.

He could defuse the situation. Instead he chose to escalate it. He snapped his teeth in her face which was awful close to his–her perfume nowhere near as intoxicating as the smell of her skin. "You caged me like a dog but that's something you'll come to regret."

The chains tightened but she didn't rear back as any sane person might have done. "I doubt it."

From this angle, her pulse was easily visible. He wanted to close his mouth over that spot; that much he knew. He didn't yet know how hard he'd bite down if he had the opportunity.

Harley raised her chin as if to give him access. As if she was daring him.

There was a knock at the door and Harley was suddenly back in her chair, professional once more if you didn't count the colour in her cheeks and the absent hand that rubbed her neck lightly.

Joker stared innocently at his intruder. It was Jason, the guard he'd hit just the night before. He couldn't resist a little finger wave in his direction.

The guard stiffened but managed to keep a hold of his tongue. Maybe he'd learnt his lesson after all.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but the lawyer is here."

Harley shook her head. "I'm in the middle of a session here."

Joker wrinkled his nose at her. "It was going pretty poorly, Doc." It would be Frost and if anyone could force Arkham to accommodate their schedule, it was Frost.

Jason spread his hands apologetically, determinedly not looking at anyone but Harley. "Not much we can do once he shows up and starts making demands."

Jason was a simple sort–an asshole but not too bright. He accepted Frost's unanticipated presence without batting an eyelid. Harley on the other hand was much more wary. That's what would make killing her so satisfying. All the worthwhile things required work.

"Guess that's my cue. Bye princess." Joker blew her a kiss as Jason grabbed his elbow and jerked him from the room. Jason was careful to keep as much of his body away from Joker as he could manage.

He thought he caught Harley rolling her eyes as he was thrust out the door but it was affectionate. She was definitely softening towards him.

Frost stood as Joker entered the room but waited until they were alone before he spoke.

"It's all set up," Frost said without preamble.

Joker's fingers danced along the top of the table. "About that. Cancel it."

Frost's face was impassive. "Cancel it?"

"Cancel it!" Joker sang out, admiring Frost's super human ability to not show any emotion.

"Done." Frost straightened his suit jacket even though it was already sitting perfectly. "Do you need anything while I'm here?"

Joker stroked his chin and considered. "Actually. There is something."

…

Harley was annoyed their session had been cut short but it hadn't been a critical one. She'd anticipated that if she started demanding what Joker had seen when she'd used hypnotherapy then she'd be dealing with a very uncooperative wall. Best to leave that one lie for a little while until she'd built up some more good will.

The food would go a long way to establishing that. In fact, it had been so successful, Harley fully intended to keep scheduling those meals.

It had been a surprise to realise he could carry a conversation even when it didn't relate to disorder and death. Maybe the liquor had loosened his tongue or perhaps it was being treated like an adult. Whatever it was, at one point Harley had to remind herself the man across from her wasn't her friend, wasn't her date; in fact was so far from normal there would likely be a diagnosis named after him. Still, Harley had enjoyed his company, the way her heart beat a little harder when she made him laugh in earnest.

Maybe Joker's exit was an unexpected blessing. Arkham was holding a fundraiser function and Harley had been told that on no uncertain terms that she was expected to attend. Apparently every rich person in Gotham with a chequebook wanted to meet the woman treating the Joker. She imagined she'd be asked a lot of questions, making this less social and more of a work outing.

She knew they'd have a lot to say about Joker's mental state and she didn't want to hear it. Still, Bruce Wayne had offered to play host and Harley found him intriguing and handsome enough to balance out the frustration she felt at having to answer to people who knew nothing more about psychology than what they saw on Doctor Phil.

Harley finished applying her lipstick and checked her phone. A missed call from her mother, who she hadn't spoken to in weeks, and a photo of a beach with a bottle of wine in the corner, partially obscured by a thumb. Jonathon. There was no accompanying text but his message was clear. _Join me_.

It was an awfully tempting invitation even though things had started to look brighter at work. Vanishing into Europe held a certain appeal. Less rich people demanding to know answers just because the sheer size of their bank account meant they felt entitled to ask whatever.

Unfortunately there were no accolades to be won in Europe and whatever else Jonathon may or may not feel for her, she knew he already respected her. A smaller part of her that she preferred to ignore, tried to point out that she was also afraid of what it would mean to go there and be with him.

Frustrated with that line of thinking, Harley left her apartment and caught the elevator down into the lobby. Beyond all logic, the doormen was still the Joker's henchman. On an impulse, Harley came to a sudden stop in front of his desk.

"You don't still have to be here you know?"

The man blinked slowly, as if her words had to penetrate a dense fog to reach his brain. "He told me to stay here and watch you." He said it with the conviction of a true believer.

"And watch for what?"

"Watch you," he clarified as if that should be enough for her.

"He's been put away, he can't make you do anything."

He snorted, unexpectedly demonstrating genuine emotion. "Yes he can."

Harley lifted her eyebrows and wondered not for the first time what kind of networks Joker still had outside the asylum. She wasn't stupid enough by half to imagine he had no way of exerting influence. It had taken him less than 24 hours to break out of custody the last time after all. The fact that he was still there at all gave her pause.

"I could talk to him, if you'd like? Get him to let you go home?" she suggested it, and wondered if she was more naïve than she thought. Joker didn't think much of her or her opinion at the moment. Why would he listen to her advice on his crazed disciples?

The man gave a half shrug. He'd scrawled the word Jeff in jagged sharpie on a name badge. "I don't mind this job."

Harley's mouth pursed and she shook her head. But Jeff seemed content for now and she was very good at minding her own business when it suited all involved.

"Your call, Jeff."

He seemed somewhat taken back by that statement but Harley didn't have time to explain free will to him today. She was already running late for the party.

When she arrived she was somewhat surprised by the sheer amount of people that had attended. It likely had more to do with Bruce Wayne being the host than for actual interest in mental health. Almost as soon as she crossed the threshold, a waiter was pressing a glass of champagne into her hand. Across the room Bruce caught her eye and raised a matching glass. She saluted him back and took a sip. He winked at her before turning his attention back to the beautiful woman next to him.

Harley briefly contemplated interjecting herself into the conversation. The other woman was lovely enough that Harley might actually have to be very charming to win Bruce's attention but she was almost certain that she could. She checked that urge. Bruce intrigued her–when he winked or when he smiled, that playful glee never quite reached his eyes. He was deceptively hard to read for someone that everyone had figured out.

Deciding against that course of action, she touched her hair self-consciously. She was the recipient of quite a number of side stares and it made her skin prickle and her mind question whether she had the right to be here. The whispering, dark voices that started to make themselves heard in the back of her brain were familiar and unwelcome. Harley played with the stem of her glass and took a few deep breathes to centre herself. When her heart beat slowed and she was sure her face conveyed nothing but cool confidence, she entered into the melee.

Jeremiah spotted her quickly and had a number of people who wanted to shake her hand and meet her; congratulate her for her work with the Joker. Harley chose her words very carefully in response. She saw the way the skin around their eyes tightened whenever she said anything that implied that Joker was a human under all those layers of destruction. They wanted to think he was a monster in the most literal sense. It helped them to sleep better than thinking a mere person could do all that. Harley had seen him bleed, seen him asleep, she couldn't erase away his humanity despite all the things he'd done. And she certainly couldn't confess that his plans of terror drew her in more than anything else.

The night was a sea of faces and polite conversation, it was jarring when she next looked up into the face of Bruce Wayne. He was grinning that pleasant smile of his that gave nothing away. His eyes were a warm shade of brown, the exact opposite of Joker's, Jonathon's and even her own, but they were opaque as they regarded her. Gun to her head, Harley couldn't not have guessed at what he was thinking.

His mouth was saying all the right kind of words, the expected words. "Doctor you are becoming quite infamous," he observed with good nature.

"We'll have that in common," Harley suggested, replicating his joking tone while her mind whirred away in the background, trying to assess him.

Bruce chuckled in response. "You've done more in service of Gotham than I have. Getting the clown locked up."

"I hardly think that tops millions in charitable donations. Mr J is a patient like any other." Harley took a small sip of her wine. Bruce Wayne did like to spend his money on the finest things for his parties.

"Mr J?" Bruce tilted his head to the side in what she thought was genuine interest.

"His preferred name at the moment."

"So you're no closer to uncovering his real identity then?"

Harley's head tilt echoed his. "Mr Wayne, surely you know I can't discuss patients with you."

"Bruce, please Doctor."

"Harleen."

"But he's not really like other patients is he," Bruce prompted. "He's different."

"Bruce, you have a very determined interest in Mr J."

"Doesn't everyone?" Bruce's response was pleasant but it was a deflection and Harley saw the frayed edges around the question.

"Everyone is curious, Bruce. But not everyone asks the same questions."

Harley wasn't sure what she was trying to achieve but she could resist prodding at the façade that was Bruce Wayne, hoping something would shake free. The more she studied him, the more clues she got. His eyes weren't shuttered, they were shadowed. Haunted by something that Harley couldn't begin to guess at.

"Are you trying to tell me that curiosity killed the cat, Harleen?" Bruce's smile flashed all his teeth in her direction. It was the first expression she had any trust in

"Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back," Harley corrected with a wolfish grin of her own. "I should know, I've been the cat more often than not."

"You survived the Joker, Harleen, I think a foolish person would underestimate you." Bruce was serious now, pretence falling away.

"There are a lot of foolish people in the world," Harley retorted neutrally. "I've learnt to do what is necessary without consulting the fools."

There was a beat of silence where the pair of them merely stared at each other and tried to gauge the double meaning.

"I must attend to my other guests." Bruce was suddenly formal, the roguish playboy nowhere in sight. He was slightly wary of her and that was as unexpected as it was interesting. What did Bruce see that made him cautious of her?

"Of course. A host's duties are always present." Maybe to balance his sudden starkness, Harley looked up at him from underneath her dark lashes, even though Bruce Wayne was seeming increasingly too smart to fall prey to appearance alone.

"I expect we'll have cause to meet again, Harleen, in some manner or another."

"I don't doubt it."

She watched him walk away with considerably more interest than she'd had at the start of the night. It was only their second meeting but somehow Harley thought she knew a lot and yet nothing at all about Bruce Wayne.

Her expression had gone blank as she surveyed him like a hunter. She reanimated her face in case anyone else was watching her and made for the bathroom.

Harley shut herself in the stall with her back against the door. She wished Jonathon was by her side. Aside from the support, he was an excellent judge of character. His assessment of Bruce's character would prove invaluable and not for the first time Harley found herself cursing the fact he'd effectively been cut out of polite society.

Stranger still, she wanted to talk about Bruce with Joker. On more than one occasion he'd demonstrated an uncanny ability to read people, read society, detecting their greatest fears and how to exploit them.

But Joker was just as far away from her as Jonathon was and not at all in the mood to be her confidant. All she'd get for opening up to him was a bout of mockery that would cut far too accurately.

Harley rubbed at her cheeks. She only needed to stay a few more hours then she could retreat back to her apartment where it was safe and everything made sense.

The door to the bathroom opened and brought with it slurring, drunken voices. Harley recognised them as two of the other psychiatrists on staff at Arkham. She'd been so bombarded with people this evening that she'd not even seen her colleagues but it made sense they were here.

Unwilling to make small talk, Harley chose to stay in the cubicle instead, listening to the uneven clatter of high heels on tiles. It was obvious they had availed themselves of Bruce's excellent wine.

"She was practically throwing herself at him," one of the women, Harley thought her name was Susan, complained. They were obviously mid-way through a conversation.

Her companion-Lidia maybe?-laughed and agreed. "He totally saw through her blood sucking, opportunistic behaviour."

Harley raised her eyebrows, confident they were discussing her.

"That makes one person. Everyone else here can't get enough of her."

"They don't know she fucked her way into a degree."

Harley didn't want to give those drunk, harping women any credence but their comments struck her hard. She hated that rumour with passion. One or two indiscretions that had been haunting her career for years.

"Well she had to use her one and only skill," Susan agreed sagely as is Lydia had said something truly insightful rather than repeat the community standard on Harley Quinzel.

Harley's cheeks burned with anger and shame.

"You just know this is how she got her job at Arkham," Susan announced.

Lydia laughed with the abandon that only drunk people had. "Are you suggesting she slept with Jeremiah?"

Susan snorted. "God no. He didn't want her, it was that crazy guy's choice. Why do you think he asked for her?"

"Because she'd terrible and he knows it?" Lydia suggested.

"I think it's because he'd getting something on the side. Not all those sessions are videotaped you know! Anything could be going on."

So not only had she used sex to get through college but now she was also fucking the Joker? Harley's curled fists left little nail indents along her palms. It was tempting to burst out of the bathroom and set the women straight. Or smash their faces into the sink over and over until they learned a little bit of respect. Harley did neither of those things.

She stayed in the stall until well after they left, hating them, hating everything they'd said and hating the way their contempt made her hands shake.

 **AN: Apologies for the delay in the update. I've been enduring the flu and have had to do this chapter bit by bit when I could manage.**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: warning – references to child abuse.**

Joker put his chin in his hand and stared at Harley with a gleam in his eye. She was agitated. That much was apparent. Her spine was ramrod straight, she'd snapped at him at least three times and she stumbled over her words. It was really, really enjoyable to watch.

She was in fact thoroughly distracted. The only downside was that he wasn't the direct cause of her annoyance.

"Where's your brain, doc?"

"Excuse me?" Her words were barbed.

"Wherever it is, it ain't here."

"I'm perfectly focused on the session." Her hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail and she glared at him through the lenses of her stern glasses.

Joker leaned forward on his elbows. "What were we talking about then?"

Her eyes narrowed but her shoulders slid subtly from side to side. An obvious tell by anyone's standards. There was a pause while Harley clearly tried to recall whatever they had been discussing and Joker outright refused to give her any clues.

"You," she finally answered.

He laughed at the gambit. She wasn't wrong but neither was she right. Whatever had gotten under the polished princess' skin had wormed deep. He was almost offended he wasn't the cause but he was having too much fun with this cagey Harley.

"You did want to know if there was any significant to my tattoos," he prompted.

"Are there?"

Joker bit the tip of his pinkie lightly and grinned at her. "I wasn't exactly trying to be subtle."

With one hand, the one with the grinning teeth inked into his skin, he swept back his hair to reveal the word damaged.

"You need a haircut," she observed, nonplussed by his display. It was getting long and the dark roots were starting to show; but no one really wanted to get too close to him with scissors.

"What happened, Harley?"

It was a gamble to use her name and he did it sparingly. Right now he was counting on her defences being distracted. He asked matter-of-factly.

For the first time since they'd started talking, she focused on him properly.

"You ever meet people who just deserved to be hit until they can't speak?"

"All the time. I tend to set them on fire."

Harley lifted her eyebrows in contemplation. "That might have been just as satisfying."

She was biting her bottom lip and Joker leaned even closer. The darkness was so close to the surface on this one he could practically smell it. Maybe Harley didn't revel in violence the same way he did but it definitely didn't repulse her.

"I recommend the experience to everyone. What did they do?" he prompted, wanting to lay her bare.

"What did you see when you were under hypnosis?"

He recoiled from the unexpected question, snarling at her. "Nothing!"

"Nothing? Because you said 'help me.'"

Her expression was wiped almost clean but for the tightening of her jaw.

"Bullshit," he snapped.

"It frightened you," she barrelled on, not at all bothered by the sky rocketing tension in the room.

Joker shot to his feet, wrists bound but at least not to the table this time. Harley rose almost in sync. Every nerve of his body told him to lash out, to hurt her. He had stubbornly avoided thinking about where his mind had gone during the hypnotherapy session. Joker knew that child, and if he waded a bit deeper he would know why. That was the last thing he wanted.

A strong hand on the centre of his chest drove him back into the wall. Harley shoved him backward, deceptively strong for her size, and he stumbled over his feet. His head smacked against the plaster with an audible thud. He started to cackle even as his head spun.

She had been that close to snapping and he'd managed to push her over.

"Why did you say help me?"

Getting his wits about him, he moved swiftly, looping his arms around her neck, tightening his restraints around her throat. They weren't long but his hands would make up the rest.

Her breath caught and her mouth fell open but she didn't lose the fire in her. She glared up at him all reckless defiance.

"Stop prying, Harls," he growled. "You won't like where it leads."

"I won't or you won't?"

He jerked her hard against him in response, tightening once again. Her cheeks were flooding with colour and still she wouldn't yield. It was making him hard.

"Neither. Both?" His breath was hot on her skin.

"They think I only got this job because I'm fucking you."

For the second time, she changed tacts so swiftly he had to take a moment to process.

"They?" he demanded, still riding the flight or fight response to her questions.

"Others at Arkham."

He shook his head in bewilderment, not loosen his grip on her. "So what?"

"That's my entire reputation isn't it?"

"I didn't read your LinkedIn page, Doctor." His glib response didn't do much to puncture her pensiveness.

"I'm just the one who fucks everyone."

"There are worst people to be."

She pushed harder on his chest, it hurt, was tougher to draw air into his lungs. It brought her closer to him. He wasn't sure if he had her captive or if she was crowding him. Probably something in the middle.

"I am good at this," she insisted.

"So good," he agreed, his words obsolete, she was barely listening to him. That was irritating. He could choke her without a second thought and she was barely paying attention to him. Joker tugged hard at her neck and elicited a hiss of pain. It was beyond satisfying.

"I earned my place here without having to sleep with you, without wanting to."

Her chest was rising and falling fast in her anger. He was captivated by the sight of her in this unbridled, uncontrolled anger; the naked vulnerability and self-doubt, as beautiful as they were useful to him. Joker couldn't look away.

He shrugged one of his shoulders. "Where there's smoke there's fire," he said and then stepped in to kiss her. His mouth was hot and aggressive, more teeth than lips.

A sound of protest escaped and he anticipated he was going to get shoved away or kicked in the balls. He deepened the kiss and tightened the hold around her neck. Hands raked down his back, hard and painful, sending electricity down his body.

He grabbed at Harley as best he could with his hands restricted. He pressed his body against hers, mouth hungrily claiming hers. Joker was pushing her back now, until her thighs were against the table, then she was sitting on it. Her legs wrapped around his hips, the points of her heels digging into his ass. He wondered if this session was being filmed, if they were being noisy enough to attract the attention of the guards.

Harley's head would be on the chopping block if she was caught with a patient like this. And as much as he wanted her to suffer, he didn't want it to be at someone else's hands. Not now when everything was falling so perfectly into place.

Her lips were on his neck, and then her teeth were sinking into the skin there. His hips jerked forward in response and he groaned.

Maybe it was the sound or the feel of him between her thighs but Harley reacted like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over him. She kicked and pushed him away with such force he fell to his knees, hair falling into his eyes.

She righted the fall of her skirt but then she was gone, fleeing the room as if she was on fire.

Joker started to laugh and was laughing still when the guards were sent into collect him. When he'd received nothing for dinner but a pudding cup, he'd laughed even harder.

…

The apartment was small. Practically it was enough space to live in but the press of the air and the lean of the walls made it seem like it was closing in on him.

Joker glanced around and tried to orientate himself. There was music playing in the distance. Nothing recognisable. His eyes cut from side to side taking it all in. Enough light was filtering in that the dust could be seen floating in the air.

The unflattering hospital clothes had been replaced with something more familiar and flashy. Expensive suspenders pressed against a crisp, white shirt and criss-crossed with a chest holster that held two guns.

There was a woman lying on the couch, a shrivelled and dipping brown thing. An arm was thrown up over her head, her face turned into the swell of a cushion. A dark tangle of hair was her only defining feature and even from here he could tell the hair was matted and unclean.

Joker didn't know who this woman was but she was deathly still. His eyebrows drew together. If this was another one of his previous victims then he was poised to throw a tantrum.

He took a step toward her, fingers twitching with the prelude of anger. Reaching for her shoulder while his other hand hovered near his gun.

"Don't touch her," a voice hissed. "You'll wake her up."

Joker started at the sound of the disembodied voice. He had to strain to locate its origins. A little boy had pressed himself into the small space under a sideboard table. Not really large enough for a person to fit, or to breath either. But as the boy shimmied out, Joker could see he was dangerously thin. Not just the expected skinniness of youth but perilously so.

The child was a fragile and vulnerable as anyone he'd ever seen and Joker instantly despised him for his weakness. At the same time, he would knife anyone who tried to hurt him.

His eyes were an electric blue, vividly contrasted by a fall of dark hair.

Joker's spine stiffened. "Who are you?"

The child ignored him. "She'll be mad if you wake her up." He wrung his hands, dark bruises bloomed on his skin.

"So she'd not dead then?"

The child shook his head. "Drunk."

"She do that to you?" Joker gestured with a hand towards the obvious injuries. His own arm ached as if he too had been beaten.

The boy sucked his bottom lip up between his teeth and worried at it. He nervously avoided answering the question.

Joker shot a contemptuous glare at the woman, not sure why it bothered him. He'd done far worse to people. Granted never to a child but some kid's parent definitely.

"That's a yes." He ran a thumb over his gun and wondered what would happen if he blew her brains out here and now.

"Not just her."

Joker's mouth twisted into a snarl. "Jesus, kid. How many people are you letting beat on you?"

The child folded his arms across his body protectively but remained silent. He was watching Joker warily. He was another threat in his lounge room. As much as he usually enjoyed the overt fear he evoked, there was something about this child's fright that made him feel dirty. He created some more distance between the pair of them, hands up where the child could see them.

"Why don't you do something about it?"

"She doesn't mean it." The response tumbled out too quickly. He'd said it before, trying to convince others and maybe himself that the woman on the couch wasn't a monster.

Joker exhaled hard. "Yeah, she does."

"It's only when she drinks."

"Think of it this way, kid. Just because the tiger is in a cage, it doesn't stop being a tiger. Same goes for monsters."

"Are you a monster?"

Anyone else would have been struck across the face for such a foolish question. Joker kept his hands to himself. What did he look like to this little boy? He ran his fingers lightly across his face, the tips came away white and red, smearing his make-up. A Halloween mask and metal teeth.

Joker lowered himself so he was the same height as the boy, sitting on his heels.

"Yes."

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"Not right now."

The child considered his answer and seemed satisfied it was honest even if it wasn't particularly reassuring.

"Why didn't you do something about it?"

The questions made no sense. Joker tilted his head. "About what?"

"When you were here in the first place?"

The question displaced him and those blue eyes unsettled him with their sudden age.

Blood pounding at his temples, Joker asked once more. "Who are you?"

The child gazed back at him unflinching. "A monster."

Joker sat bolt right up in bed, sweat making the sheets cling to his skin. His breathing was ragged and his forehead feverish. He tried to tell himself that it was just a dream, that it wasn't real but how would he know. The past was nothing more than a void. He had no way of knowing what was fact and what was fiction.

He didn't know if he'd been that scrawny, scared little boy at one point. He didn't know why that boy scared him so much.

…

Harley tried to focus on the staff meeting but was finding it difficult. She had rescheduled the last two days with the Joker, feigning an illness. She hated that she was too afraid to be in a room with him alone, _hated_ that it wasn't him that frightened her but herself.

Her body could still feel his hands on her skin, as if they'd branded her. The mere memory of it sent little shivers of lightening along her body, making it ache.

She was glad she had stopped it from going any further. Mostly. That night in the shower, she'd let her imagination follow the fantasy to completion. Harley hadn't pushed him away, instead pulled him closer. Let him tug her underwear to the side and fill her completely, the restraints hard against her back as he pressed his weight into her.

Harley had dropped her head against the tiles in the shower, cheeks hot with shame and exertion, water falling across her shoulders.

Her guilt magnified when she saw Jonathon had sent her another text. _I miss you_. So simple and yet the words tore through her like knives. When she wasn't fantasising about Joker, she was consumed with thoughts of Jonathon. Both men terrified her, for entirely different reasons. And she wanted both men desperately, for entirely different reasons.

Jonathon balanced her and Joker was walking chaos. Neither would do anything for her professional reputation, though at least being with Jonathon wouldn't get her licence stripped away and possibly a jail term. And from the sound of it, despite her recent achievements, her reputation was still on tenterhooks. Her colleagues had been malicious assholes but they'd readily believed that Harley had made a lover of Joker.

And what had she'd done on the back of those accusations? Been stupidly predictable. He'd crashed over her like a wave and she'd let him, welcomed it. How could she even begin to think she had the upper hand when his touch unhinged her so?

Swirling amidst all the anger she had, there was the small consideration that _he'd_ kissed her. Even though he said he hated her, he'd claimed her mouth with an entitlement that no one previously had done. Of course he could be toying with her. There was such a thin line between hate and lust and Harley could attest they were hardly mutually exclusive.

Susan was talking and Harley forced herself to keep a neutral expression, nodding professionally while she talked about some case that would have put Harley to sleep. Credit where credit was due, Susan seemed genuinely engaged in her patient.

Luckily it was just a standard briefing and not a brainstorming session so Harley wasn't expected to contribute much but her presence. She'd already told Jeremiah that she had nothing new to say about Joker and therefore no need to provide an update. She didn't think anyone in the room would appreciate it if Harley announced that apparently strangling her got him off.

They'd appreciate it less if she told them it got her off.

There was a light tap on the door and when Jeremiah opened the door, Commissioner Gordon entered, causing Harley to snap to attention. She was under no delusions about how Gordon felt about her. And unlike Susan and Lydia, he could actually do something to her with those suspicions.

Harley had no interest in going to jail. Her father had spent enough time in them when she was young that she knew exactly what prison was like.

Gordon skimmed over her, only briefly acknowledging her presence before Jeremiah introduced the man as if everyone here hadn't met or heard of him.

The commissioner was not a flashy man, instead he spoke with quiet confidence. It was this competence that most unnerved Harley.

"This conversation is classified," he started without preamble. "I'd appreciate if what we told you, didn't go beyond this building."

This piqued Harley's curiosity. It wasn't unprecedented that Gotham PD would seek the professional expertise of Arkham Asylum but the relationship had been somewhat soured by the actions of Jonathon.

He'd done more damage to the city than half the current patients put together. With the exception of perhaps Joker. And only Jonathon could do that and still negotiate his release and freedom.

Gordon handed out a small stack of papers to each person present. As if to reinforce the spoken caveat, the classification was scrawled on each page too.

Harley flicked through quickly–eyes widening slightly when she saw what she supposed were crime scene photos. It was hard to tell if the victim had been a man or woman. It was hard to tell they'd originally been human.

There was a stoic silence from around the table. The staff weren't strangers to violence or this type of graphic content. Still it was unsettling.

Harley had seen some terrible things in her career, during her time with the Joker, but there was something savage about this attack.

"We're calling him the Ripper," Gordon spoke, judging by their reaction that they'd seen the photos.

"Creative," Harley breathed, but her heart wasn't in the sarcasm.

Gordon heard her quiet comment and turned his focus on her. She met it evenly.

"We're speculating he was inspired by him at this point and time Doctor Quinzel."

Harley adjusted her glasses. "I'd say that was a pretty fair assessment."

The commissioner seemed taken back by her agreement but it didn't throw him for more than a second.

"I'll be perfectly frank with you. This case has stalled. We don't know anything about the perpetrator, in fact we're speculating entirely that their gender is male."

"Serial killers do tend to be male," Jeremiah observed, "but we can't afford to make those assumptions."

"They leave no DNA evidence, they strike erratically and the victims don't fit a profile that we can discern. We're hoping that this is enough evidence to come up with a psych evaluation."

"I expect all of you to devote some time to this when you're not working on your currently assigned cases," Jeremiah added before dismissing them.

"Everything you should need is in the files but if you have any additional questions please don't hesitate to get in touch," Gordon added as they trooped out.

Harley headed back to her office, shut the door and kicked off her heels. She went through the pages once more, slowly and meticulously. There was plenty to discern from the actions of this individual but a lot of missing information too.

She suspected the police were right to suspect a man. The force required to cause the damage that had been inflicted on the bodies was immense. Not to say a woman couldn't do it but they'd have to be very strong.

Otherwise Gordon was right. There was no obvious pattern - diverse victims, different dumping sites, varied times. If the degree of violence wasn't consistent than Harley would have speculated that she was dealing with multiple killers.

It had whet her appetite though, this puzzle, this level of malevolence.

And if she provided some crucial break through than Gordon would be forced to take her seriously and all her doubtful colleagues could shove it. She'd have to work fast though and use all her available resources.

Who better to help catch a violent serial killer than another violent serial killer?


	15. Chapter 15

Harley sprawled on her back in the almost dark of her apartment. She was in her lounge room, eyes flicked up, taking in the upside-down panorama that was the Gotham skyline at night. She blinked lazily, her thoughts a spiralling torrent behind a calm expression. She was framed chaotically by pages and half-open and then forgotten books.

She was still considering the problem that Gordon had brought to Arkham. She was resolved to asking Joker's opinion but not until she herself had a handle on the case. Knew it back to front.

She'd used that as an excuse to avoid Joker for the most part. They'd done a paint by numbers therapy session in the cafeteria. Harley had plunked a chess board down between them and resolutely met his eyes while she set up the pieces.

Joker slid his fingers along the corner of the board and smirked at her. "I prefer checkers."

Harley had nodded. "Maybe so but we're playing chess."

"Why?" he asked, swivelling the board so the white pieces were in front of him and the black pieces in front of her.

"It's a queen's game," Harley had explained simply, feeling the weight of his gaze on her skin, the itch to creep closer to him. "And maybe I don't feel like doing my job today."

Joker tutted at her but still made the first move, choosing to move the knight instead of the more traditional pawn. "Are you sure you don't want to draw any deep insights from the way I play?"

"If you reveal any."

That had been the end of the conversation; Joker had played recklessly and aggressively. He had suspected she was closely watching his strategy but she was more transfixed by the way his long fingers curled around the pieces. Though despite her distraction, she did notice that he seemed to make no plans and yet still held his own against her.

They both kept their hands to themselves and Harley would have considered it a victory if she didn't think he was laughing at her.

Most of her colleagues had given up on the police case or had devoted far less time to it than she had. And all of them were convinced there was no pattern to the victims, that it was purely random. But it had worked way under skin, becoming almost an obsession.

Everything in her bones told Harley otherwise. Most humans were almost exactly the same; they liked routine, pattern. Did things for a reason.

It was there, she just hadn't figured it out yet. Most of the scattered papers around her were victim profiles. She knew as much about them as the police and though they appeared to have nothing in common, it was an agitating drive to find the common link.

Frustrated and feeling like a fraud, Harley scraped her fingers along the ground until they connected with her mobile.

Without over thinking it, she punched in Jonathon's number.

"Hey stranger."

Just hearing his voice made her release a tightly held breath. He sounded warm and slightly slurred.

"Did I wake you?"

"Mm but I don't mind."

"I sometimes forget time zones and I'm not sure what part of Europe you're in."

She could hear him sit up, become more alert. "How are things?"

An involuntary laugh broke out escaping its fractured cage in her chest.

"That bad?"

Harley pushed herself into a seated position and pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. "Not that bad."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone while Jonathon absorbed her lie and tried to decide how to proceed. There was a rustle.

"Do you want to know what your star sign says today in Italy?"

Harley snorted in surprise, a smile tugging at her mouth. She tucked her knees up against her and wrapped her free arm around her legs. "Go on then."

"Do you speak Italian?" Jonathon asked, feigning sincerity.

"No, you'll have to translate."

"If I must. What is your star sign?"

Harley tucked her chin into her shoulder, just enjoying listening to him. "Guess."

"Gemini," he announced decidedly.

"Hey!" Harley protested. "Are you saying I'm two faced?"

"You're nuanced," Jonathon placated.

Harley shook her head. "You're insufferable."

He chuckled into the phone. "Am I right?"

"Doesn't matter, I want to hear how Geminis are going to fare this week."

"Apparently Mars is in your domestic sector."

"So I should clean the house?"

"Apparently. Also you'll be sorting out disagreements? This does not sound accurate."

"I'm disappointed there are no tall, dark strangers in the immediate future," Harley said, tension easing out of her spine as she rested against the couch.

"Fresh out I'm afraid. Is everything alright at work?"

"It's challenging at the moment."

"Anything I can help with?"

Harley toed at one of the profiles. It had a Hispanic woman in her early 20s on the front. She was smiling, the kind of smile that was infectious and made you want to return it. It was hiding the picture of the crime scene in which she was no longer recognisable.

"I'm trying to come up with a profile for the police. It is more difficult than the typical profile but if I can provide good information it will help."

"Help who? You or the people who died?" It was a far more cutting question than she'd come to expect from him but not unwarranted.

Harley looked at the smiling woman and her stomach clenched. "He butchered them, Jonathon. As far as I can tell he did it for sport."

"Do you want to send me the files for a look?"

"Can't, they're classified."

"Playing by the rules?"

"For now," Harley replied. "While it suits me."

He made a sound low in his throat and Harley could tell he was thinking. "Just remember to consider that everyone is afraid of something."

"Afraid?"

"I know better than anyone that fear is a great motivator. What does he fear more than anything in the world? And then maybe you'll understand what makes him do what he does."

He was turning introspective and Harley knew she should leave it alone but she couldn't resist asking, "How does fear motivate me?"

He exhaled, almost sadly. "That answer is what ties you to Arkham right now."

Harley didn't fully understand what he meant and he didn't elaborate. They said quiet goodbyes before hanging up.

…

Joker admired his newly greened hair. Frost hadn't batted an eyelid when he'd requested the hair dye. It was still long and frequently fell in his eyes but he felt… more like himself, whatever that meant.

He didn't suspect Harley would be too pleased to see such obvious evidence of his ability to exert power outside of the walls of this building. But then again, he'd have to see Harley again for it to register. Apart from a half-assed therapy session, where she'd put the chess game between them, she'd been absent. It hadn't escaped his notice that she'd chosen a very public setting for the game too. Did she not trust him or did she not trust herself?

As tempting as it was to run a finger up the side of her leg under the cover of the table, he hadn't. It would be far more telling if she gave in without the extra pushing on his behalf. But the chess game have revealed her mind was a million miles away from him.

For his part, he wasn't sure if he was irritated by Harley's current distraction or relieved. He hadn't had any nightmares about broken children but he'd not managed to forget the vividness of the first one.

As much as he didn't want to know, he couldn't help speculating. Was he that boy? Was that a tiny glimpse into his childhood? If so, what a shitty lot in life he'd been dealt. A derelict mother who beat him.

Being stuck in the tiny room of the asylum wasn't doing much to quell the rising restlessness. Especially when it would take a phone call to ensure his freedom. But he'd committed to this course of action and he clung to it still with the doggedness of a fanatic. There would be no satisfaction for him until Harley had been well and truly punished for her sins.

He'd tried to channel his frustration into mindless exercise. It wasn't his first time coped up like this, he knew how to turn the minimalist furnishings into a gym of sorts.

He'd just completed enough push ups to make his arms shake and induce a sense of peace into his chest when the guards entered. They didn't know him, no one did in this place. But that was part and parcel with being insane. People forgot you were human and perhaps that was even easier when they looked at him.

He grinned at them with all the ease in the world. "Hi guys," he announced cheerfully, as if they were welcome guests. "I'd offer you a refreshment but, I don't have anything."

For some reason his glibness set their teeth on edge more than outright hostility. They didn't know what to do with his charisma. They knew they couldn't like him, didn't dare build an amicable relationship with him, so that left them at a loose ends. At least when he was being a snarling prick they were allowed to hit him.

As a general rule, he didn't mind the pain but he'd never give them the satisfaction of beating him senseless.

"The Doctor wants you," one growled and held out the hand restraints. Joker went forward with his wrists held outwards. The other men had their hands hovering over their Tasers. Joker rolled his shoulders and pretended not to notice. The shackles slid over his skin, slippery from the light sweat he'd worked up.

"My, you all are skittish today," he sing-songed, attention still on the one binding his arms.

No one dared answer but the tension in the room racketed upwards as if he'd threatened them.

When no one made another move, he shook his hands in reminder. "Best not keep the good doctor waiting."

He was intrigued when they took him to the usual session room instead of the safety of the cafeteria. Harley was waiting for him and the blankness on her face told him nothing. Even more interesting.

The camera was off and she'd still not said anything by the time the guard left. She wasn't giving much away but he did catch her cursory glance towards his green hair. Once they were alone, she broached the distance between them.

He painted a wary expression on his face. "Are you going to try and make out with me again?" He hadn't been able to help himself.

No change in her except a barely perceptible intake of breath. Instead she deftly relieved him of his restraints so that his hands were completely free. He swung them wide and eyed her curiously.

"I need your help." She gestured towards a large stack of papers that sat on the table, previously unnoticed by him.

"My help?" he echoed, not quite sure he'd heard her right. Harley had proved to be more surprising than most people he knew but she'd not once asked for his help. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had. He covered the confused twist of his mouth with the grinning ink on his hand, tapping the side of his jaw with his finger.

"Yes. Your help."

If she was ashamed at asking for his assistance then it didn't show. He was dealing with the snore-inducing, professional Harleen Quinzel _but_ for once he was equally interested in this iteration of her as the other. She was talking to him like an equal, with genuine interest.

He didn't know how to catalogue this behaviour so he played along until he knew what was happening.

"Happy to be of assistance, doctor." He punctuated the syllables of the word.

Harley nodded briskly and then sat down. "I need your help creating a profile." She opened the folder and he got the first glimpse of the mangled body. He lifted his eyebrows and let out a low whistle.

"I'm going to have to be scarier," he assessed in a neutral voice.

Harley side-eyed him. "You're plenty scary."

"Pretty flattery, princess, but that's very fucked up." He pressed the pad of his finger against the picture. So much carnage, blood and chaos. An absolutely masterful death.

"You're panting in my ear," Harley interjected. No judgement, just a statement of fact.

If she needed his help then he could afford to be little bold. He leaned forward, practically nipping at her earlobe. "Do you like it?"

"I'd like it more if you were focused." That was the truth. This puzzle had Harley worked up more than he did. It reaffirmed his earlier point about needing to be more terrifying.

"Your wish is my command." He shrugged then instead of taking the chair opposite, he dragged it obnoxiously and loudly so he was sitting next to her. He collapsed bonelessly into the chair. She stiffened beside him - not as unaffected by him as she pretended. She could suck it up. If he was going to help then she was going to treat him with the proper respect, even if it was only for an hour or two.

She was silent as he flicked through all the pages, skimming them at first to get a general idea of the situation.

His eyebrows drew together. Who was _carrying_ out these murders? They predated his incarceration and he still hadn't heard a whiff of them. It was annoying that whoever was on the other side of the blade might possess both skill and smarts.

"I need to kill more people," he grumbled to himself.

"Are you really comparing yourself to this?" Harley asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

"It's a male thing," Joker quipped.

"I don't think you have to worry, Mr J. You're even harder to get a read on than this guy."

He pressed a hand to his chest and feigned being grateful. "You'll make me blush, doctor Quinzel."

"I'm serious," she said, pulling out more files. "You're a lot more unpredictable than him."

He waved a police report under her nose then lightly licked it. "This report says there is no pattern."

Her face screwed up in disdain. "There is. They don't think there is but we're just not seeing it yet."

He didn't have to ask who 'they' was. "You think I can?"

"Can't you?" Her head tilted seductively and she watched him from underneath her dark lashes. It was a heavy handed play; a bluff that he called her on.

"You don't want to flirt with me doctor." His hand was suddenly on her knee, inching upwards. The silky smoothness of her stockings gave way to skin half way up her thigh. He wanted to pull her legs open and investigate whether there was a garter holding them up, what underwear she chose to wear when she knew she'd be with him.

She let him carry on, reactionless except for the heaviness of her breathing.

"Why not?"

He paused. He had a list a mile long of the things he'd like to do to Harley, all of which would make her scream, if only fifty percent of the time in pain.

Seizing on the brief moment of indecision, Harley moved swiftly. She rolled her hips forward and grabbed his hand, jerking it higher so that his palm was pressed against her.

"Is this what you're threatening?"

Startled by her unexpected move but quite happy to roll with the punches, he pressed the heel of his hand against. Her defences were impenetrable, but he could feel the heat of her.

"Is that all you have?" Her eyes a flashing, icy blue. "Because I can do this to myself, likely faster too."

"That would be something to see."

"How about you try and impress me before trying to get your hand in my panties."

It wouldn't take very much effort to scrape them to the side and feel her properly. The disdain on her face was the opposite of dissuasion. Jesus Christ, but he could make that contempt vanish.

She made the choice for him, flinging his hand away from her and back into his lap. She crossed her legs and composed herself. Just like that it never happened.

"Can you help me?" she repeated evenly.

He slicked back his hair and wagged a finger under her nose. "Not for nothing," he chided. "A favour. To be decided."

"Deal," Harley bit out. "Now tell me something useful."

…

She sure enjoyed playing with fire and testing the limits of her self-control because it sure as shit wasn't smart to let Joker that close to her in general, let alone give him access to such an intimate part of her. She'd been gambling on the fact that the brazen move would throw him off and earn his cooperation.

It had to an extent but he hadn't allowed typical male impulses to rule him completely. He'd had the presence of mind to bargain for a favour.

Harley had complied; partly because she really needed his assistance and partly because she had no compunctions about reneging on the deal if it was something she really didn't want to do.

She hoped it wouldn't come up for a long while because if she did have to let down her end of it, then whatever rapport they'd built would be shattered. Still, she didn't trust him not to ask her to cut off one of her fingers or something equally reprehensible.

Joker had been quiet while he poured over the papers. He exhibited a stillness she'd never seen; a stillness she'd never mistakenly call calm. He was like the eye of a storm, static but electrifying.

Harley hadn't needled him though her impatience grew. She noticed his hand drifted occasionally to where he'd once strapped his knives or his guns and when he found them missing, settled for clicking the pen endlessly.

It might have been purely to annoy her but he was too absorbed to be giving much thought to rattling her chain. Fidgeting focused him.

A smile cracked his face and he instantly turned smug.

"Oh Harley, you're right. There is a pattern here. Clever, clever girl."

She desperately tried not to bask in his compliments. They were meaningless and yet. Not many people praised her professional instincts.

"What is it?"

His grin became Cheshire. "Un uh. It will be more satisfying it you 'do it yourself.'" He air quoted his words, harking back to her early comments.

Rolling her eyes at his impertinence, Harley gave in. "Can I get a clue then?"

He slid her a page. It was the medical records of one of the victims. The police had dug deep to try and find where the connections were. "I've already looked at these. They don't share any significant medical conditions."

His eyes sparked and he laughed. "Devil's in the details, Harls. You have to look closer."

Praying that he wasn't leading her on a wild goose trace, she seized the piece of paper and scanned it closely.

Joker had slumped back in the chair contentedly. "When you're done with this will you go back to treating me?"

"I thought you didn't like being treated?" She didn't lift her stare off the piece of paper.

"I like being the centre of attention," he explained, folding his arms on his stomach and waited for her to figure it out.

It was the medical record of one of the teenage girls who had been murdered. White, affluent, never in trouble with the law. Her medical record might have been a bit longer than most by her age but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. At least at first. Harley's eyes widened.

"Light bulb moment," Joker crowed, splaying his fingers wide. "It's not as obvious with all of them."

Harley grabbed up the thorough autopsy report and compared them to her medical records. Harley snatched up another victim's information to compare.

Broken bones; some that had been treated, some that had healed on their own but more than typical. Organ trauma in some, a list of accidents that might have been bad luck but weren't when she could look at the whole picture.

"They were abused," she breathed out. "All of them are abuse victims."

"Bingo." Joker snapped his fingers.

"But why kill them and not the abusers?" Harley demanded.

Joker shrugged, not as invested as she was by any stretch of the imagination. "Maybe he was abused, maybe he's the abuser. Either way, he's got a truck load of anger and probably a lot of fear."

 _Fear_.

Harley startled at his choice of words.

"What?"

"Someone told me that once I knew what he was afraid of then I'd know what motivated him."

Joker's eyes narrowed. "Someone."

Harley didn't respond to that. "What's he scared of?"

She turned to Joker as if he might somehow provide even more answers. He tugged on her hair lightly. "That violence is visceral. I'd say he's scared of himself."

Harley met his eyes across the folder. He was close enough that she could smell the hospital grade soap on his skin, his hair falling across his face again. She wanted to reach out and tuck that hair behind his ear.

"What are you scared of?"

She didn't think he'd answer and wasn't too surprised when he said, "nothing." But she didn't miss the shadows that flickered in the shocking blue.

He cleared his throat when she didn't break the silence. "Gotta help the cops catch a bad guy, Princess. I won't abide someone up-staging me for long."


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Please review folks – more reviews feed the muse.**

Gordon cleaned his glasses and then took a small sip of the coffee, he'd brought with him. Harley's was untouched as she watched the Commissioner's face. It was constructed into clean lines, not giving much away. Not nearly as much as the presentation of coffee had.

He was trying to start the meeting off amicably, probably well aware that Harley had deduced his dislike and distrust of her.

Harley had accepted it politely, wrapped her fingers around the warm cup and waited.

"It would appear your theory has some legs, doctor. We've done some more digging and managed to confirm most of the victims were abused in some capacity."

Gordon's shoulders stooped with weariness. The tiredness was palpable on his face and despite his opinion of her, Harley felt sympathy stir.

"You should sit down," she directed, trying to sound polite rather than gentle. For a man so attune to tone and nuance, he didn't seemed to second guess this invitation. Didn't stop to consider whether sitting made him look weak or whether she was trying to manipulate him.

Instead he took the seat grateful, fingers still tight on the envelope he had brought with him. Harley could tell from his white knuckles that it would have something to do with the case.

"Sorry for calling late, Doctor but I figured it couldn't wait."

"It's no trouble at all. I have some paper work to catch up on so I would have been here regardless."

"Another workaholic?"

Harley shrugged and offered a smile. "I like my job."

"I don't sometimes."

For a cop, Gordon sure wore his emotions on his sleeve. Even living in a crime drenched city like Gotham hadn't fully prepared him for this latest rash of murders. Or maybe it was the modus operandi of the killer that had broken him.

"I was about to order food. You're more than welcome to join me and we can discuss the case."

"Thank you but no. I have my own paperwork waiting. I just wanted to bring you this." He passed the envelop to Harley. She knew without opening it that it would be another murder.

"Same profile?" Her voice remained even.

"Yeah." Gordon drank more coffee and Harley was sure he wasn't even tasting it.

"He's escalating then. Less time between victims."

"More violent too."

"You'll get him," Harley said, surprising herself by the vehemence in her statement. She was hardly an idealistic, justice warrior but she'd had dreams about those crime scenes. They had spooked and enraged her in equal measure. The killer was deliberately hunting for the most vulnerable people in Gotham, people who had already suffered and been betrayed.

"But will it be before or after another death?"

"I'll look over the latest murder and see if I can't fill in a few more details." She started to open the envelope as she spoke, meaning every word of it.

"I appreciate that, Doctor. But it was meticulous again. No fingerprints, no DNA, no evidence."

"All the same. I enjoy a challenge."

Gordon got to his feet. "I think if anyone has a real shot understanding this monster, it'll be you."

A week ago, Harley would have interpreted that comment as an insult but now she didn't.

"I'll walk you out."

Gordon waved her offer away. "You have more important work to do." He quietly shut the door behind him when he left and the silence that remain held his sadness.

Harley steeled herself to look at the photos and she managed to keep her face impassive as she took in the mess. The victim was almost fifteen, living in foster home temporarily and attending a support group for abuse. Harley looked at his school photo for a beat before putting it face down on her desk. Seeing his shy smile and dishevelled hair made her chest tight.

Instead she reached for her internal phone and made a call. Twenty minutes later and Joker was in the room.

She hated the way her breathing eased at the sight of him. Hated the immediate sense of confidence that this was someone who could help.

It was contrary to everything she'd had to remind herself about him.

"Well this is unexpected, Doc." He sounded wary and his eyes swept the room and her face.

"He _is_ targeting abuse victims," she said without preamble.

"I told you that," he replied.

"I need to know where to find him."

Joker drew his eyebrows together. "Christ, Doc, you pulled me down here to play detective? You even try to do this on your own?"

Harley had two options; honesty or bravado. The choice was obvious.

"No. I could. I could spend hours and weeks trying to get this guy but I don't have the time. It took you less than an hour to see through him. I need to know where he hunts. How he's finding them."

"If you wanted to spend time with me that badly, you could have asked," Joker crooned but he snatched up one of the closest pieces of paper. His eyes stayed flat as he read the report he'd grabbed. It was a stark reminder that he didn't process information the way Gordon did, or even the way she did.

He read the report like it was nothing more than the morning paper.

Joker tutted under his breath. "C'mon Harls, you're just being lazy now. Or you're letting emotions get in the way of your brain. Gross, by the way."

Harley resisted the urge to reach across the table and slap him.

"Why don't you share your wise insights," Harley prompted, trying not to sound incredibly facetious.

He fixed her with a sharp glare, looking up through his eyelashes. "Let me ask you a question. You like wine right?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Indulge me."

She was tempted to say no. He made it sound like she was signing over her soul.

"Yes. What's your point?"

"Now imagine you need a specific bottle. It's more than just your favourite. You crave it."

"Ok."

"Are you imagining it, Harley? Because if you don't, you won't understand. You're whole body is tingling with the need of it. You're breathing is heavy just thinking about it."

Harley had to swallow. "We're talking about wine?"

"Wine. Food. Sex. Something you can't live without and it's so compelling it is dictating your life."

He had circled the desk while he spoke, icy blue eyes fixated on her. Harley sat back in her chair, spine rigid as she leaned away from him. Her hips tilted forward.

"Now what do you do? What do you do to get the bottle of wine?"

Harley's mind was chaotic. She was fixated on his sharp cheek bones, the startling green hairs and the sudden image of bright red lipstick smeared along the inside of her thighs.

"I don't know," she rasped.

"You go to the liquor shop."

Harley barked out a harsh laugh, expecting him to be joking but his weighted eyes held no humour. He wasn't joking and he wasn't wrong.

"Jesus," Harley blurted out, momentarily forgetting that she'd come dangerously close to reaching out for her latest fascination. She stumbled to her feet.

"Fuck," she swore again, ignoring his smugness. "If you want a bottle of wine, you go to a liquor shop."

"And if you want to murder an abuse victim?"

Harley rubbed at her face. It seemed so simple, too simple. He'd been meticulous but maybe this was where the cracks in the case were.

"I need to work out who he is."

Joker had lowered himself into her chair, kicking his legs over the arms. "Don't you mean tell the police so they can earn their pay cheque?"

"No." Harley was jittery with nerves and excitement. "You were a coup but imagine if I brought this guy in too?"

"Far be it for me to be the voice of wisdom-"

"Then don't!"

"- But that guy is really violent, Harls."

"I survived you, didn't I?"

Joker wrinkled his nose. "But I took a shine to you. Not to mention saw right through you."

"He won't see through me. These crime scenes, they're arrogance! He isn't bothering to hide the bodies because he's confident that no one will find the link."

Joker watched her closely, his eyes inscrutable, his mouth covered by the inked smile.

"I'll wear a wire and a tracking device. He'll never see me coming."

"He's going to kill you," Joker disagreed.

"Mr. J, surely you don't give a shit if I die?"

"But I wanna kill you," he whined, the petulance still not matching the seriousness of his eyes. "Trust me, leave this to the cops."

But Harley couldn't hear him. All she could hear were the cold and unflattering words spoken in the bathroom by her colleagues. Another high profile criminal caught on her watch. One might be an accident, two would be a testimony to her skill.

She swivelled to face the Joker and fixed her expression into contemplation and hoped he wouldn't notice the pulse pounding in her neck.

"You're right. I'll leave it to Gordon."

…

Harley hadn't really ever expected Gordon to see her in nothing more than a skirt and bra. Or the seven other people in the room.

She hissed out a quiet breath as a technician wove a wire into the support of her bra. His hands were cold but brisk and efficient. He was as unmoved by her bare skin as the others in the room. They'd seen it before, done this dance before. Five times before to be exact.

The tension was worse than it was last night and she hoped Gordon wasn't getting cold feet. She certainly wasn't. If anything it was the opposite. She could smell blood and despite the lagging hope of the others assigned to the operation, she was certain they were closing in on him.

Gordon's lips had twisted into a sour line.

"Cheer up, Commissioner. There are a finite amount of support groups in the area, we'll find him eventually."

"I was more worried about using you as bait."

"I'm flattered you care, Gordon, but I can handle it. I'm fine."

Gordon sighed in the back of his throat. "That also worries me. You ever think you're too comfortable with the monsters, Doc?"

That question jabbed at her; reminding her the Commissioner Gordon was her ally for now but it would do her no favours to have him watching her too closely in the future. He was far too canny.

"It's my job to be comfortable with them. To know them," she shot back when she was sure her face wouldn't betray her.

The tech finished his work and Harley tugged her shirt back on. They had installed a tiny mic and tracking device, but Harley had balked at the camera. The support group meetings were anonymous and she didn't want all those victims to have their pictures splashed through police files and, god forbid a leak, in the media.

"One of my officers is more than capable," Gordon pressed.

Harley shook her head. "No disrespect to your officers, but I know what to say to lure him out. And I stand a better chance of recognising him for what he is."

"And when you do-"

"I'll say the code word, just like we discussed."

Gordon didn't look overly satisfied with her assurances but it was the best he was going to get from her. There was too much at stake to pull her off the job and part of him must have known that if he did, she go out regardless.

The only thing that niggled at her was her implied promise to Joker that she'd leave it to the cops. She'd lied through her teeth to him, intrigued that he'd given a shit enough to warn her. He'd said it was because he'd called dibs on killing her but something in the slanted way she caught him watching her recently, made her think that something else was at play.

Their sessions had gone on as planned but Harley had made sure they were focused entirely on him. Probing enough that he didn't suspect she was going easy on him, not intrusive enough to invoke a temper tantrum or for her to become the target of his attention.

So far it had mostly worked – she'd kept her questions to the last few years. His run-ins with Batman, who he liked to talk about at length. At one point she'd gotten reckless and asked about his family. That had earned her a snarl that sent a chill down a spine and made her wish she hadn't undone his hand restraints.

But that hadn't set her on edge nearly as much as when he'd drawled that she didn't look particularly rested and wondered out loud what was keeping her from sleep. She'd gone very still and he'd leaned into her and actually smelt her.

"Hmm, not sex then," he had noted and then licked her neck for good measure.

Harley had just about leapt out of her skin, nerves a frazzled mess, not just from keeping a secret from someone who seemed to have x-ray eyes into her brain. The feel of his tongue rough against the skin of her neck had sent heat right down her body, pooling in her belly and lower.

Unbidden, the reoccurring image of lipstick smearing against her thighs came to her. It took a few shuddering breaths to banish it and the smug prince of crime had watched her with satisfaction as if he knew exactly how much effort it was not to sit on that clinical table and let her fantasies play out.

She'd merely cleared her throat and gotten on with the session.

Those memories warmed her blood as she got out of the non-descript police van, walked a few streets away and flagged down a taxi and headed towards the meeting tonight.

She wasn't scared but her heart sped up as she opened the door. It was adjoined to a church and she could practically smell the piety.

It was a smaller meeting than the others she'd been to but the crack of thunder that echoed on the horizon served as an explanation. If she had demons chasing her, she'd certainly want to stay warm and safe on a night like this. This was the type of night where monsters hunted. She was counting on it.

She offered a tight, nervous smile to the people in the room and went to the pot of coffee. She poured a cup and took the opportunity to survey the room. No one leapt out at her as being immediately suspicious. Two women chatted in hushed tones, friendly despite the quiet way they spoke. The leader of the group greeted people and set up chairs. A man in a neat buttoned down shirt, kept darting frightened glances at the door as if expecting someone to burst in at any time. He probably thought he was being paranoid but Harley knew he had cause to be afraid.

The meeting commenced without fanfare and Harley was so disheartened by the lack of promising suspects that she wondered whether she should bother sharing her story, deliberately crafted to draw attention.

There were only two men; the twitchy one, jumping at shadows and entirely focused on the door, and a middle-aged man who definitely seemed angry enough but not nearly controlled enough to have left no evidence.

The group leader invited Harley to speak and in the moment, she shook her head. She forced tears into her eyes and rubbed anxiously at her wrist. Maybe no one in here was the killer but she wasn't ready to burn her bridges just yet.

The leader nodded understandingly and turned her attention to Jumpy. His name was Graham.

"Do you want to talk this week Graham?"

Graham appeared just as scared of the leader as whatever he expected to come through the door. Harley felt a stir of sympathy and wondered what had happened to him.

He nodded after a moment of consideration. He summoned his thoughts and leaned forward on his knees. "I'm a little on edge lately," he begun, trying to sound self-deprecating but only sounding scared. "I got jumped after the meeting last week."

Harley started and tried to conceal her reaction as she listened to Graham talk.

"Some freak tried to shove me into a van but luckily some people saw and helped me."

"Did you report it to the police?" Harley demanded. A week ago? That was right before the most recent victim had been taken.

Graham wilted into himself under the force of her stare and she chastised herself internally. "We deserve to feel safe," she added on, "that shouldn't have happened to you!"

She hoped her performance was suitably convincing and was pleased that others in the room murmured the agreement.

Graham ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't want to make a fuss." His voice hitched, broke.

"We can move on," the group leader offered when Harley asked, "do you remember what they looked like?"

The group leader fixed her with a stare that quietly told her not to push but Graham darted a quick look at her.

"Brown hair, tall. He was… he was strong and he smelled."

"Like what?"

"Like garbage. Like he hadn't washed."

Harley could practically hear Gordon radioing that description to every cop in Gotham.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Harley said, with enough sincerity that the group leader bit back a scolding and Graham offered her a watery smile.

The meeting continued without incident and Harley forced herself not to watch Graham with undue intensity. She could almost understand why the killer had picked him over the others in the room. He was more broken than the others. An easier victim.

Harley got between Graham and the door at the end of the meeting. "It was brave of you to tell us," Harley said quickly, seeing Graham already flinch away from her.

He shook his head. "I'm not brave."

"I disagree. Do you want me to walk with you until you get to your car?"

"I didn't drive, I live a few streets away."

"I'll walk you home. Maybe if there are two of us, that asshole will think twice?"

A muscle in Graham's jaw twitched but he nodded jerkily. "You don't have to," he hastened to add. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

"None at all," Harley promised. Besides, she wasn't doing it out of the goodness of her heart. Graham probably had more details about the murderer whether he knew it or not, and maybe, just maybe, the killer would come back for a second attempt.

They walked out into the sodden streets. Harley turned up her coat against the weather.

They walked in silence for a while until Graham paused. "It happened here."

'Here?" Harley asked, pointing at the sidewalk.

Graham shook his head. "In there," he gestured to a small side street. "A couple of guys heard me yelling and shoving him and ran down to help."

"We should go down there," Harley suggested boldly.

"What?" Graham yelped. "Down there? Why?"

"To face your fears."

"That doesn't sound smart."

Graham was right. Facing your fears was absolute bullshit but Harley wanted to see if there were any clues. Maybe see if the choice of hunting ground would tell her anything about the killer.

Without waiting for Graham, she strode off. The streetlights barely penetrated the gloom of the alley. It was the type of place people died. It ended in a dead end and Harley was glad as hell that a group of police officers were tracking her every move.

"I don't like this," Graham confessed in a meek whisper.

Harley ignored him and glanced around with sharp eyes. There were no visual traces of the killer. Instead she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She tried to build the killer in her mind, put him there, feel what he felt and sense what he had sensed.

A darkness pressed against her chest and Harley almost smiled at the same time it chilled her. This was why she was so good at this job. She knew these people. For whatever bizarre reason, she'd been gifted with the ability to understand them. She felt him like a physical presence. Angry but so controlled and careful. Meticulous. He had brown hair now thanks to Graham's supplied details, and reeked strongly too.

Her eyebrows furrowed. Something was jarring. The image in her mind was shattering, fracturing into bits and pieces. Something didn't fit.

Why did he smell so bad? This was a killer who left no trace of himself at the crime scene. But he didn't wash?

Harley's eyes flicked open, flattening in the dull light. She looked at the dead end of the street and knew she had been lied to.

"Why were you here, Graham?"

"What?"

His voice was closer than it should have been.

"This street goes nowhere, Graham. Why were you down here?"

She was struck so hard that her vision exploded into stars and she went to her knees. She was still conscious though. That son of a bitch! Her hands scrambled on the ground, trying to find purchase, trying to force the code word out of her lips though surely they'd heard him strike her.

He struck her again and Harley forgot the words that were supposed to save her. Instead she melted into darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Content warning. Please review!**

Harley's chin was against her chest and then it sagged backwards. The movement was unbelievably painful and her stomach heaved. She managed to turn her head to the side before she threw up.

Her eyes were slitted but the light was dim enough that she could open them. They were raw as if someone had thrown sand into her face.

The world around her swam once and then once more before settling into hazy stability. Graham was sitting a few paces away, watching her eagerly. He was rocking back and forward in his seat, barely containing himself.

Harley breathed through her nose, trying to ignore the stench of vomit and death. A wave of nausea roiled over her and she had to fight to keep from retching again. Her brain was stuttering into gear, trying to piece together details of what had happened, where she was, and why.

Graham was wearing gloves. Harley's grimaced and forced herself to focus. That mother fucker had hit her right on the head.

He was the killer and he had taken her somewhere.

"Early," she began to say, her lips stumbling as they formed words.

"You're awake," Graham began, all nervousness gone, replaced with a manic, twitchy glee. Not a completely new person but near enough. How hadn't Harley seen it?

"Early start," she slurred. That was the code she'd agreed upon with Gordon before she'd gone undercover. It was so easy to fit into conversation. _I can't have too many drinks, I have an early start_. _I look so tired today, I had an early start._

 _Can you not kill me, I have an early start tomorrow?_

Graham finally got to his feet and inched closer. Not because he was afraid of being near but as if he was restraining himself. Making himself take it slow.

"What are you talking about?" Graham demanded.

She couldn't answer. Harley's head fell back and she closed her eyes briefly. She was in so much pain, so disorientated, but she couldn't afford to stop paying attention or pass out again.

"If you're waiting for help, it isn't coming. Most women don't have as much wiring in their bras."

Those words penetrated the fog and Harley groaned but made herself lift her head and look. She still felt separate from her body, like she was floating. She quickly realised she'd been stripped from the waist up and that she was tied down in a number of places.

Harley was too frightened to be embarrassed by the fact her bare breasts were on display. She was strapped in what could have been a dentist chair and there was no one coming for her. Sure they'd be looking for her but what chance did they have of finding her when they'd come nowhere near deciphering Graham's true identity?

The room was nondescript. Possibly a warehouse.

Harley drew in a breath and screamed for all she was worth. Graham flinched but made no move to silence her, just watched her with barely concealed agitation.

So they were somewhere he wasn't worried about people overhearing her. Harley cut of the scream and composed her face into neutral interest. She had to buy time. Time was her friend.

She'd lived through the Joker, though granted he had never made up his mind about killing her. Graham was clearly already set upon a course of action.

"Why?" it was raspy.

Graham didn't look particularly thrown by the question. Probably all his victims had asked him the same thing. More the blankness on her face was new.

For a beat they stared at each other and Harley didn't know how she'd missed it. His eyes were dead but for a burning hunger. He wasn't looking at her and seeing a person. She would have noticed if she hadn't been so fixated on filling in the gaps herself. If she hadn't been so arrogant and over eager maybe she'd be in her house drinking wine and talking to Jonathon on the phone.

Her heart panged. She wasn't going to see Jonathon again. She was going to die down here and no one would know what happened to her. Graham would disappear because she had stupidly turned down a camera and he was pedestrian enough that his description would fit thousands of men in Gotham. She was almost positive he was using a fake name as well. He was too careful to risk it.

"Why you or why in general?"

"Both?"

"Because you turned your back on it. The darkness."

He suggested it mildly, like she should automatically understand. She didn't but she pretended she did.

"Why does it matter if we did?" she asked carefully, leading him.

He looked puzzled for a second. "Because that's where we were meant to be. It was where we belonged."

"The darkness isn't a particularly hospitable place."

"It's a metaphor," he corrected sharply, contemptuously.

"Of course," Harley pacified, trying for soothing tones. Her eyes flicked around trying to take stock of the room. Definitely a warehouse. There was a briefcase near the chair which he hadn't had at the meeting. There were rust coloured smears on the ground. Blood. Dried, old blood.

He'd likely killed all of them here.

"But why are you defensive of the darkness?" Harley continued.

"I was chosen."

"You were special." Harley made it a statement not a question.

"It was all to see if I was worthy, strong enough. They didn't understand that and they took him away before I could prove I was."

Harley stayed very still. She had a million theories about why Graham had picked abuse victims but her preferred one was that he'd been abused himself. She had a strong feeling the person Graham was talking about in respectful awe was his abuser.

"When was he taken from you?" Harley asked evenly.

"Fifteen long years ago."

Harley did some quick math. Graham was early thirties, possibly younger. He'd been a child when he'd been fed this poison.

"Why have you not reunited?"

"He's dead. Killed by people who didn't understand."

Harley made herself look sympathetic while she churned over the information. Child abusers didn't do so well in prison. She needed Graham to tell her more.

"He let you into a secret world," she prompted.

Graham wrinkled his nose at that choice of words. "He made sure I was forged from steal." He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt revealing scars. Old and faded but numerous and from deep wounds.

"And me and the others?"

"Betrayed the legacy of your maker. Turned your back."

It started to make sense to her. Sense in a horrible, twisted way.

"They started to get better," Harley concluded in a soft voice. She remembered the files she'd read. There were no contemporary signs of abuse. Most of the injuries had been almost a year old. He'd found them in therapy, support groups. These people, these brave people, were taking steps towards reassembling their lives.

And Graham saw this and hadn't liked it. Maybe the abuse had exacerbated an existing propensity for violence and cruelty or maybe he was still protecting himself with denial or maybe he was just jealous. But he'd killed those people.

"Why do you think I'm like them?" Harley prompted. She hadn't shared her fake story. She'd listened.

"You were so defiant in the meeting that I knew you'd turned away from the righteous path."

Harley had spent hours with Joker but he'd never made her feel as sick to her stomach as this man did. Joker didn't know where he came from but he knew who he was right now. There was no denial about his actions.

"You murdered them," Harley said out loud. "Because you didn't like their life choices?" She sounded incredulous.

"I had no choice, this is what I was made to do."

"That's why you wanted to but that's not an excuse," she spat out, anger turning her blood hot.

These people had gone through hell already only to end up in Graham's chair.

"I knew you didn't understand." He paced away from her.

She clamped down on her anger. That was going to get her killed.

"I do, I do understand," she burst out. "It makes sense. Why else would he have hurt me if he loved me?"

Graham paused. He was considering her words.

Harley barrelled on. "He made me strong."

"Where is he?"

"He left. He had nothing more to teach me." A blur of male faces ran through her mind as she tried to give life to her own monster.

"Why do you go to the groups?"

"Because _they_ don't understand." She bit it out. "They don't. They can't understand why I don't hate him. Why I'm so comfortable in the darkness with the other monsters."

Graham was watching her very closely now, his chest rising and falling.

"I thought if I went to those groups, I would find someone like me. I was looking for you, Graham. We were chosen and we were meant to find each other."

He was very still now and Harley's heart was practically thunder.

"Yes," he breathed slowly. "Yes!"

Harley wanted to burst into tears with relief. Maybe she'd live after all.

"I didn't know what I was seeing inside you at first but you are like me."

"I am," Harley swore, keeping her disgust off her face.

"But you've strayed."

"I needed your guidance, Graham," she fawned, hoping her simpering act was feeding into his ego and his needs.

"I need to forge you into my image," he said softly. He walked to the briefcase.

"What do you mean, Graham? I've been forged into the darkness already."

He shook his head. "You strayed," he repeated. "You need to be tested all over again."

Graham had a knife in his hand. "I will make you strong," he promised, almost gently.

"I'll be strong," Harley rushed, eyes on the knife, shrinking back against the chair. "I'll be whatever you need."

"Yes you will," he agreed. "If you survive."

He ran the knife down her arm, leaving a burning, bloody line in its wake.

…

The bitch was dead. Either killed already or by his hand when she got back.

He knew something was wrong when she'd missed their scheduled appointment but he hadn't figured out exactly what until he was shepherded into the cafeteria for a bland meal consisting entirely of soft foods.

He'd fixed one of the carers with a disdainful look as he fiddled with the spoon, the only piece of cutlery he'd been allowed.

He then noticed two of the therapists speaking in hushed tones across the room. Some sixth sense of his prickled.

"Is this about my therapist?" he demanded in obnoxiously loud tones.

They both started and averted their eyes. He often had that effect. Able to sense things with uncanny accuracy, people often felt uncomfortable in his presence. Like he was a witch. He supposed with his leeched, pallid face and sunken eyes it was quite a disconcerting visual.

When he got no response, frustration made him snap.

"Answer me!" he growled baring his metal teeth, getting to his feet and causing silence. He was shackled but his voice cut through the air like a whip, paralysing the occupants. Well except for the truly insane inmates, who had no sense of self-preservation.

One such patient clapped his hands with glee and said "bad man." He pointed at the Joker as if there were anyone else.

Joker snapped his fingers in the man's direction and surveyed the room like a predator. "Crazy pants is right. Who here wants the bad man adding their name to the list of people who pissed him off?"

No one was stupid enough to scoff at him. Even the guards streaming in, summoned by some silent alarm, seemed hesitant to shut him up.

"Now," he continued with deadly calm. "Will someone please enlighten me as to what is going on?"

And someone explained that Harley had been missing since the early evening last night. They didn't have any more details but he knew enough already. Harley had ignored his sensible advice, even though it was one of the few times he could be accused of demonstrating common-sense. No, she couldn't leave well enough alone and like a moth to the flame, she gone on a self-destructive mission to get herself set on fire.

What was wrong with that bitch? Was she so desperate to die? She could have just asked him. He would have been a lot less messy than whoever had her now.

A disturbingly possessive feeling blossomed in his chest. He was supposed to be the only serial killer in her life. He refused to admit it was jealousy. He just didn't like other people touching his toys was all.

Not his for much longer. He'd seen those photos. Though if anyone could survive it was probably Harley. She had a knack of making herself interesting to people who weren't particularly susceptible to manipulation. Hell, wasn't he sitting in Arkham Asylum because of her ruthlessness and quick brain. God knows, Harley had a silver tongue – a tongue he'd thought about on more than one occasion – but this killer was more rage than human and causing pain was his raison d'être.

Joker paced his room and tried for once to organise his chaotic thoughts. Tried to simplify it all. Harley was in danger which meant Harley could die. If she did die, then he would get to neither fuck her nor kill her and if he didn't get to do any of those things, why the fuck was he in Arkham? It certainly wasn't for his health.

He kicked the metal framed bed hard enough to rattle the bolts that secured it to the ground. If there were more things in the room, he'd have gone on a rampage. Instead he sucked in a furious breath through his nose, tilted his head back and spread his arms.

There was a bang on his door. "What are you doing in there, clown?"

"I need to make a phone call," he sung out, eyes closed.

"It's outside of hours."

"But I want to speak to my lawyer."

It was amazing how quickly the L word got things done in this building. It worked like magic. Just as he requested he was taken to the phone booths and given enough privacy to speak confidentially. If only those pesky government folks would nut up and break that stupid legal confidentiality thing, they'd get a load more bad guys.

He answered on the second ring.

"Boss?"

"I have work for you, Frost. Time critical."

…

Harley was almost certain she was going to die. Hours had passed and she'd been in a sparring match with Graham the whole time but she hadn't managed to stave off the worst of his 'testing', just guided it.

Despite her efforts, if this didn't let up, in a few hours she'd be dead from blood loss. Death by a thousand cuts.

He'd steered clear of her face so far, holding his finger to his lips. "This will have to be our secret."

She supposed that was comforting. At least he was entertaining the possibility of letting her live. That was all well and good unless he got carried away and accidentally slit her throat in his fervour. At least he didn't seem to be turned on by it, which was one less horror he could inflict on her.

Still her entire body vibrated with the pain. Some were deep enough to need stitches and blood seemed to constantly be running. Her body would be a mess of scars. Graham liked to be up close to her pain too. He delighted in her winces and gasps. His lips trembled in ecstasy when he made her scream.

Oh yes, he certainly liked it when she cried out in pain. He told her it was cleansing, she choked off the urge to tell him to go to hell. She retreated into the medical side of her brain and evaluated her situation with clinical efficiency.

Her breathing was shallow and rapid, her skin paler than before. Where before Harley's heart was beating so hard, she thought Graham would hear it, now it fluttered in her chest. Classic symptoms of blood loss.

Graham was approaching again and she tried to wave her hand to get him to stop. Her fingertips were blue. She was actually dying right in front of Graham's face. Ironic that she was the first he wouldn't have meant to kill.

"Let me enjoy this a little longer," Harley wheezed, fighting to keep her eyes open and her thoughts straight. "If you go too fast, I can't feel all the weakness leave my body."

It was the right thing to say to Graham. In fact he looked revoltingly tender and swept her blond hair away from her face. "You're doing so well. Only a few more days and you'll be pure."

A hysterical sob escaped Harley's throat. She didn't have hours, let alone days. He interpreted the sob as blissful rapture at his words. The knife was still in his hand and dripping with her blood. She wanted nothing more than to take that blade and drive it into his throat. Over and over again until he was dead.

She needed to think, to find something perfect to say that would manipulate Graham into letting her go. Or to slow down so that she might survive.

Her mind was a whirling blankness, where nothing but pain existed. Her wrists were raw and bleeding after hours of trying to get her hands free. The tape had given a little bit, taking skin and hair off her arms. Her blood had helped too, making her skin slick to the touch. If only he'd bound them together, she could have broken her thumb or used her combined strength to break it. But she had no choice but to work for millimetre by millimetre.

Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, dried from lack of water and lots of screaming. "I just need some more time," Harley ended up panting.

Graham narrowed his eyes at her. "This isn't supposed to be easy."

"I know, I know," Harley hurried to assure him, trying not to sound as broken and fragile as she felt.

"In fact, I think I've been going soft on you."

"No, no," Harley tried to shake her heads, her words slurred. The violence that was now in his eyes, replacing the reverence she'd won. This was the man-no, not man- the monster who had had carved those other people up like they were just meat.

Harley opened her mouth to beg, to plead, to offer him anything he wanted when he brought the knife down hard. It stabbed into her thigh, stealing her breath and seizing her body so tightly that she couldn't scream. He'd been content to slice at her for so long.

There was a beat then adrenaline roared through her system like a dark wave, pushing back the pain and leaving fury in its wake. Harley ripped one hand free and seized Graham's wrist just as he pulled the knife out.

Harley howled in agony but she clawed at his arm, trying desperately to keep the knife from cutting her again. Graham was yelling too, an explosion of insults that revealed how little he thought of her now that she'd disappointed him so spectacularly.

Harley threw back some of her own. "You snivelling, weak, pathetic weasel," she managed to punctuate through gritted teeth.

Graham tried to slap her with his free hand but the scuffle sent it glancing off her shoulder instead of her face. They fought for the knife and Harley's arms shook with the effort, darkness blooming in front of her eyes. It was only a matter of time before her strength gave out and she fainted. But at least she was going down swinging. And if luck was on her side, a healthy chunk of DNA was now under her nails.

"You're going to hell, prick," she snarled, body going boneless.

The world exploded around them.

At the same time the door flung open to crowing machine gun wielding men in clown masks, the ceiling gave to a dark figure.

The Joker's henchmen and Batman all in the same room.

Harley shrunk back from Graham and used her free arm to shield her face as bullets shot around the room with abandon. Graham still had the knife, at any point he could slit her throat.

Harley forced herself to look at the chaos. It was a swirling mass of masked figures, fighting themselves and landing hits on Graham when he got in their way.

He may have been the reason everyone showed up at this place, but now they were all here, he'd become the second priority. He was still Harley's.

She ripped at the tape still keeping her in place. A figure appeared by her side, green eyes a lot more lucid than what she'd come to expect from Joker's henchmen. She tried not to flinch when he pulled out a knife of his own and make quick work on her remaining restraints. He looked her over quickly, before taking off his jacket and laying it over her body.

Harley had all but forgotten her nudity in the pain but she was glad for the gesture.

"You'll need medical attention but the police are on their way," he explained it all in a cool, rational voice before vanishing from her side almost as quickly as he'd arrived. Harley shuddered and the world seemed the quiet around her.

The henchmen, having achieved whatever they meant to do, left the building like rats abandoning a sinking ship.

Batman had turned his attention to her, and then began seeking out Graham. He'd disappeared in the melee. He grunted as he realised that but didn't move to chase him down.

"Are you ok?" the question was well-meaning but came out in little more than a growl.

Harley thought about nodding but it would be an obvious lie. She shook her head instead. The masked vigilant took one hesitant step towards her when they heard the shouts of law enforcement.

"I'll find him." The promise was swift and brutal before he made to sweep out of the room, leaving Harley shivering in the dentist chair, desperate to move out of the pools of her own blood but unable to.

"Kill him," she rasped after him, voice steel. Batman hesitated on the threshold, not looking back but listening.

"Kill him!" she ordered in a snarl, lifting herself up onto her elbows, eyes boring into his back.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Thanks for the wonderful response to last chapter. Please review this one!**

Harley spent twenty-four hours drifting in and out of consciousness. Gordon demonstrated remarkable restraint in not bombarding her with questions the minute her eyes were open.

The doctors were quiet and subdued as they surveyed her wrecked body. She remembered that much at least, while they'd hissed for blood and antibiotics to combat any potential infection.

Harley turned in her bed and found Gordon in the exact same spot he'd been every time she'd woken. Only this time he was asleep, his head tipped back and a light snore escaping. Harley pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing as the stitches across her body pulled tight. She reached for the small plastic cup near her bed and took a tentative sip. They'd been pumping her full of fluids but her mouth was dry as bone.

When she looked back at the Commissioner, he was awake and had a small pocketbook in his hand. The looked at each other in silence before Harley broke it.

"He got away didn't he?" It was barely a question.

Gordon nodded once, his gaze seeming to linger on the shallow cuts on her arms.

"Do you want me to call a doctor in?" he offered.

Harley shook her head. "I'd prefer to give my statement while it's still fresh in my head."

She managed to keep her voice even as she explained Graham's appearance, motivations and rambling doctrine. She was very careful not to touch the wounds he'd left as she talked about their making. She gave as much detail as she could and answered all of Gordon's many questions.

"We'll get him, you know," he promised. "Now we know what he looks like and how he operates, we'll lure him out."

Harley thought about how those dead eyes had carved her up in his head and the satisfaction there when he decided to hurt her for real, to kill her.

"He was just playing with me, Gordon," Harley said, hating that her voice wobbled. "The next person he comes across is not going to be as lucky as I was."

"I'd hardly call you lucky, doctor."

"I could have been killed. I _would_ say lucky."

"He'll have a much harder time getting the next person. The group leader of the support group provided a description to a sketch artist so his face is out there. And we're offering to send officers to stand guard outside meetings."

"You're shrinking his hunting grounds," Harley mused. "Smart. But it is going to piss him off."

"Angry people make mistakes," Gordon countered, with a small smile. Harley nodded and glanced at her nails which had been swabbed for DNA.

"Do you know when I can go home?" Harley asked, lowering her hands back onto the bed. She didn't want to be in the unfamiliar bed. She wanted her home and four walls she controlled around her.

"I'll call the doctor, he'll let you know."

In the end, the doctor released Harley that day though he didn't seem satisfied that she was leaving. He only let her go after eliciting a promise from her that she would attend regular physical therapy sessions for the next month to repair the damaged thigh muscle.

Harley had agreed, signed the release papers and ignored the pursed mouth of the doctor. A cop drove her home and saw her as far as the elevator before Harley insisted she was fine to make it to her apartment without a babysitter.

The doors slid shut, sealing her inside the metal box alone. Her heart beat was faster with each floor she rose. The doors opened and she stumbled out, making her way towards her apartment.

Once it was in sight, her self-control weakened and she broke into a run, pulse racing as she finally shoved the key into the lock. She threw herself inside, slammed the door behind her and turned the lock.

Harley's knees gave right there and a sob dragged its way out of her throat. She wanted to scream, to scream the whole fucking apartment building down out of rage and terror. She curled her fingers into a fist and swallowed her shouts, letting the tears spill down her face.

She stayed there so long her legs started to ache and cramp, the terror paralysing her. She started when her phone rang, cawing loudly from her pocket.

Harley fumbled it out and stared at the caller ID. Jonathon.

She sucked in one calming breath after another. Then, hoping she sounded normal, answered.

"Hello?"

"Harleen?" The question was ragged.

"Who else?" She tried to sound bored.

"Don't be glib! I heard."

Harley rubbed at her face and bit her lip hard, stifling the tears that threatened to keep falling. "I'm fine," she said thickly. She realised Jonathon wasn't going to buy that for a second so she barrelled on. "What do you mean you heard? How?"

"I'm not so very isolated in Europe," he griped down the phone. She could hear him pacing as if it was effort not to crawl down the phone and see her for himself.

"I'm fine," she reiterated, trying to inject some actual conviction behind the words.

Jonathon grunted in response. That had to be the one and only time she'd heard Jonathon make such an undignified noise.

"I suppose if anyone would be, it would be you," he grudgingly offered.

"You know how much I like dancing with the devil-"

"I wish you'd do it less!"

Harley ignored his interruption. "-but really, I'm fine."

"So you weren't in hospital?"

Harley cursed internally and wondered where Jonathon was getting his information and how reliable the source was.

"A precaution," Harley dismissed, crossing her fingers.

"So you're really not hurt?" Jonathon asked, softening.

Harley slumped against a wall and closed her eyes. His concern was blatant. But she couldn't bring him to tell him the extent of injuries. Of the fear that clawed inside her chest at this very moment.

"Of course."

Harley heard a second voice in the back ground and drew her eyebrows together. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Jonathon said a little too quickly, his turn to be cagey.

"Jonathon!" she scolded, immediately sure he was lying.

Jonathon blew out a sigh. "I'm at the airport."

"Why?"

"Because," he spat out, suddenly angry, "someone took you and I didn't know what the hell was happening or if that incompetent police force was going to find you."

Harley froze. "You were coming to rescue me?"

"Don't be so melodramatic," Jonathon scoffed. "I was going to… separate you from immediate danger if I could."

"Jonathon, I am ok. Don't come back. You'd feel so silly coming all the way here and seeing just how not in danger I am."

She leaned into her phone, waiting to see how he'd response.

"If you're sure?"

Her shoulder slumped. "Very! I'm drinking wine and watching trashy TV right now. Nothing out of the ordinary at all."

"Alright, I'll stay put. But remind me to send a bottle of wine to the Batman. He apparently tracked you down."

"Send it to me instead," Harley quipped, processing the information with interest. So the other attendees of the fight were not known.

"I'll send you a whole case if you stay out of trouble for a while."

"Deal. Now go away and stop fussing."

"Insufferable," Jonathon grumbled but said good bye and hung up.

Harley let the phone clatter to the ground and wished she'd asked him to come home, come to her. Instead, she somehow managed to stagger to her feet and to her dining room table. She dragged a chair out from under the table, her muscles groaning in protest, and shoved it under the door so that nobody could come in without her knowing.

Harley then limped to her bedroom, alert to every potential noise, and got her gun. She could count on one hand the amount of times she'd removed it from the safe in the back of her closet but she got it now and held it in a grip that barely wavered.

She checked every room to make sure that no nasty surprises were hiding anywhere. Having swept the apartment, Harley suddenly felt able to breath and hurried to the bathroom, shucking her ruined clothes as she went.

Her body was a patch work. Bruises, cuts, stitches and bandages. Luckily most were waterproof though she wasn't sure that would have stopped her turning on the shower. She wanted to wash off Graham's touch, Graham's gaze.

She had to unwind the pressure bandage they'd put on her thigh. But the stitches under that were covered. It was like she was covered in code.

Harley stared at herself in the mirror and wondered how many would scar then decided she didn't care. The water was scorching and sunk into her skin, burning away her shame and her anxiety.

She couldn't figure out why the Joker's henchmen had been there. She knew exactly who they were even if Jonathon didn't. There was no possibility that they'd stumbled across her by accident, which meant they'd come looking for her. And they wouldn't do anything like that without an order.

When she began to sway, Harley shut off the water. She dried herself and picked the gun back up from the sink and went to bed. Even though her body cried out for rest, she couldn't keep her eyes shut for more than second before adrenaline forced them open again to scan the room even though it was barely early afternoon.

…

He knew she was alive but that was it for a long time. Frost had called to inform him that while things hadn't gone to plan his 'pet therapist' had survived. Joker had growled at Frost when he'd said that. Not because of his choice of words but the way he'd said them. Layered with sarcasm.

And perhaps Frost knew he'd come a little too close to the line because the rest of the debrief was curt and professional, and frustratingly lacking in detail. Frost had been interrupted by the Batman before he could extricate the doctor from the precarious situation she'd foolishly gotten herself into. Apparently Gordon had turned on the signal within an hour of her abduction.

Joker fought down his jealousy that his nemesis had swooped in to save the day. He didn't much care for batsy hands all over what was his. It also meant he'd called out his henchman for nothing and in doing so, probably tipped off the extent of his interest in Harley, if not the cause.

It was enough to make him grind his teeth and the fact he hadn't seen her was worse. Frost had told him she'd been cut up and he'd seen enough of the crime scene photos to imagine just how bad it could have been.

In amongst all that annoyance, frustration and envy, he was impressed. Harley was the first to survive 'the Ripper's' attention. She was two for two and that gave him pause. He'd been fairly sure his plan to win her onside was progressing at the perfect speed and progressing well.

Now he wasn't so confident. She was good at manipulation, she'd proved that not once but twice.

He could just abandon the plan and murder her – he'd never been opposed to changing his mind whenever it suited him. But when Joker really thought about ending this mental dance, he found he didn't want to. It was still entertaining him.

Instead he waited for her return and kept a neutral face when the inevitable visit from the police came. Taking no chances, they strapped him into a straitjacket before asking him several questions about whether he'd set free the pack of clown-mask wearing thugs.

He'd smiled benignly and shook his head.

He had taken the opportunity to ask about the state of Harley in the most casual way he could manage. The officers had swapped glances that told him more than words.

"She's recovering," was all he got but their sombre faces revealed that the injuries were bad. Unable to help himself, he'd snapped his teeth and struggled in the restraints, earning himself an injection full of sedatives.

Not enough to knock him out but definitely enough to make him compliant. With the assistance of the guards, he managed on unsteady feet, the world blurring into rings of colour. It was then he caught a glimpse of blond down the hall. Blond hair, pale skin and scared eyes.

Harley.

Joker tried to dig his heels in, wanting to say something even if it was just to gloat that he'd been right all along, but his strength had vanished into the medication along with his words.

He was pulled along like a leaf in the tide and Harley was gone before his muted brain could even determine if it was a hallucination or not.

…

Harley saw him, how could she not. He filled the space with that dangerous energy even when he was clearly drugged.

Medicated enough that she paused. Whoever had dosed him had gone too far, erring on the side of caution a little too much. For the first time in days she felt a spark like her old self, and wanted to hold her head up high and rebuke whoever had administered the shot.

But her old self was still a shadow, still in dire need of rebuilding and so she let them walk him on. Part of her was relieved. She knew there would come a time when she'd have to ask him why he sent his people to rescue her.

Harley had no idea what the answer would be and that frightened her more than it should. They were already playing such a hazardous game.

She wasn't in Arkham long enough to see him again or even suggest scheduling a session. Jeremiah practically chased her out of the building, alarmed by the sunken shadows under her eyes and the visible lines of stitches.

He didn't buy Harley's insistence she was fine at all and she cursed the entire way to her car. He was right not to believe her of course but if it wasn't for all the wounds on her body, she could have convinced him.

The stitches would dissolve in their own time and she'd already been to one physical therapy session so that her limp was less pronounced. Once the physio-therapist had realised she had a gymnastic background, he'd tested her flexibility, strength and range of movement. Harley was not nearly as skilled as she once was and her abilities hampered by her current physical restrictions, but she had to admit that it felt good to push herself, experience that iron control and precision that all gymnasts had needed. It was the only time she felt any peace.

Her house had become a fortress of extra locks and security systems. The lobby had armed security too. With Graham on the loose, the police were taking no chances with their only living witness. Once Harley would have protested the oppressive security but she was glad of it and sick to the stomach at that gladness.

She didn't go to bed without her gun under the pillow and even then she only managed to snatch the briefest bits of sleep. She was startled awake by nightmares or noises.

The tiredness was fraying her already fragile nerves. She'd spent whole minutes frozen in terror at the person against the wall, gun shaking in her hands, only to realise that it was her own shadow being cast by the lights of the city.

But Harley hadn't been able to see that. She could only see the hatred in Graham's eyes before he'd stabbed her in the leg.

She'd curled in on herself then, eyes gritty and hot, and let the tears of anger and exhaustion leak out.

Tonight was no different. She lay there and willed her muscles to ease and her mind to stop looking for threats. Somewhere on the street a car alarm wailed and before he brain could process that information, her body reacted. She scrambled to her feet and pressed herself into the corner.

Even at the height of her interactions with Joker, she'd never been this broken by fear. It had felt like a game. Now she felt like she was being hunted.

Harley swore loudly. It was before midnight and the rest of the night stretched endlessly before her. Her heart was pounding, half from fright and half from fury. Graham had stolen something from her that not even the Joker had. She didn't feel safe anymore.

Unable to think straight, Harley shoved her feet in some shoes and grabbed a coat, slipping it over her pyjamas before letting herself out of the apartment.

…

Joker had been on his best behaviour since he'd last seen Harley in the halls. Or at least when he thought he'd seen Harley. Backlit by light and not much more than a haze of blond hair, she might have been a phantasm.

And the dreams that had followed that night were psychedelic, fractured and violent. It had rocked him awake and he'd gone out of his way to avoid the drugs. But without them sleep eluded him.

His mind hummed like a beehive with no way of channelling his frustrated energy or diverting his attention. He flicked through the pages of a book he'd stolen from the common area. He wasn't absorbing it but something about the ink sunk into the pages was soothing in the muted light that was all he was allowed after nine pm.

Joker's frazzled nerves had him instantly on his feet when the door opened. He let the book fall on the bed when he realised it was his therapist standing there.

Harley was practically swaying where she stood.

"Had too much to drink, Doc?" talking to buy himself time while he figured out why she was suddenly in his room.

Harley didn't respond, instead flicked her eyes to the camera in his room and he followed her stare. He narrowed his eyes when he realised the steady red light was gone. The camera had been turned off.

Joker regarded Harley warily, properly taking her in as she stepped further into the room. It was like a ghost version of herself, similar but not the same. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, no make-up and pyjamas underneath her coat. She still hadn't said a word but the dark circles under her eyes spoke for her.

Silently, she shucked the coat and her arms were suddenly exposed. His chest burnt with the sudden urge to hit something.

As if she sensed the shift of tension in the room, Harley straightened, expression cautious and edged. Joker suddenly wasn't sure who the most dangerous person was right now.

Joker raised his hands, palms exposed like one would with a wild animal. Harley stayed still, trembling but not backing up.

Not wanting to getting clawed in the throat, he kept careful track of her face when he reached for her wrist. With uncharacteristic gentleness Joker extended her arm to get a better look. Amongst the wounds were scratches and bruises. Harley had a bit of fight in her then.

"Someone did a number on you, princess," he rasped, counting in his head just how many cuts and slices on her. He didn't like this many marks on her, that she was a walking testimony to another man's violence. His fingers tingled with the urge to break out of the asylum and rip the prick limb from limb. The anger in him wasn't reflected in her. She could barely look at him, shrunken by fear.

For once he didn't find her terror delicious or intoxicating. Probably because it wasn't his. Joker had threatened her life on more than one occasion and all he'd gotten from her was curious apprehension.

He wanted that Harley but he wasn't sure what to say to the delicate stranger in front of him. He was hardly renowned for his emotional counselling.

So he said the only thing he could think of to make it half better.

"I'll kill him. One day. I'll slit his throat."

Harley finally stopped staring at the wall, focusing on him intently.

"Or I'll dismember him," he added with a shrug. "Lady's choice."

Her silence was starting to become irritating and was scratching at a part of his chest he didn't understand when her hand softly pushed him backwards until his legs hit the weak excuse for a bed.

It took a lot to genuinely surprise him but this did it. Stranger still, he let her move him.

Harley moved with him until they were both lying on the bed, he watched her with harsh intensity. She curled into his chest, fitting into his body. Her fingers brushed lightly across the grinning tattoo on the back of his hand. She'd manoeuvred them so his body was between her and the door.

Harley pressed something into his hand. It was a small watch that she'd just taken off.

"Wake me up at five am," she murmured softly into his neck.

Joker barely moved as he listened to Harley fall asleep quickly and soundly. When she was finally sleeping he had to bite the inside of his mouth not to crow in triumph.

It was obvious she hadn't gotten any decent rest in days but he made her feel safe. She thought it anyone could protect her against the monster that had hurt her, it was the monster she shared a bed with.

He'd been so furious that she'd almost gotten herself killed but she'd survived and stumbled further into his trap. If she got caught in here with him, her career would be over. But he was going to do as she asked because he wasn't done playing with her yet.


	19. Chapter 19

Harley woke up naturally. Even without a window she somehow knew it wasn't yet dawn. No way of knowing whether Joker would have listened to her request and woken her at five am. No way of knowing whether he would have let her sleep through until her inevitable firing.

She could tell he wasn't asleep either. She could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his arm as he caught a ball over and over again. It was a little surprising that he had stayed by her side. Despite the small movements, he was clearly restless. His muscles were tight against her body but still he stayed put.

He seemed to be oblivious to the fact she was awake now and she was loathe to say anything. She couldn't have slept more than a few hours but it had been deep sleep and more importantly, uninterrupted.

The reality of her life was pushing against her though. She'd have to get up before the bribed guard was swapped out with another one. And she'd also have to ask Joker why he'd reached out beyond the asylum to save her.

There was no logic to the fact the reason scared her but it did.

Harley couldn't put it off any longer, turning on her side to face the clown prince whose mere presence had granted her what she so sorely needed. Rest.

She was still tired but it didn't press down on her bones and her eyes were sharper than they'd been in days.

The ball throwing ceased automatically and after a brief searching glance, which seemed to catalogue every little thing about her in an instant, Joker was on his feet. The restless energy Harley had sensed was apparent as he bounced on his feet and stepped around the room in agitation.

"I should go," Harley said quietly, suddenly as shy as if they hadn't just slept.

That embarrassment must have registered because her words earned her a smirk. "Don't want to get caught in the mousetrap."

"That makes no sense," Harley scoffed in an attempt to take control of the situation. They'd just shared a bed and there was no reason to get flustered. She grabbed up her coat and did her best to smooth her sleep-mussed hair. Joker continued to grin at her with an almost intolerable smugness.

"Au contraire, Doc," he countered with a jaunty wink. "Tongues are already wagging about you and me." He punctuated his words with an obscene hip gyrate that had Harley wanting to punch him and definitely regretting turning to him.

But even as his teasing irritated her, in the back of her mind she couldn't forget that she'd slept at his side for hours, completely vulnerable, and he'd done nothing to her.

So instead of retorting with some scathing words of her own she asked, "Did you mean what you said?"

"About?"

"Killing him?"

He raised his eyebrows-much more visible without smeared white paint-and tilted his head.

"Did you?" Harley prompted, uncomfortable with the uncharacteristic silence.

"I'm a number of things Doctor but I'm not a liar."

Harley snorted, the first time she'd laughed since her abduction. "Yes you are!"

Joker grinned even wider. "True but in this case I'm happy to oblige. I get my hands on him and I'll make him squeal."

Harley exhaled heavily, wishing she could scold him for the sentiment but it warmed her, braced her.

"I better go. Y'know, before I get fired. Thanks for the nap, Mr. J." She opened the door with her pass card.

"Joker," he called after her.

"Pardon?"

"If I'm killing people for you now, maybe we're back to first name basis?"

Harley really looked at him, taking in the tattoos, tumbling green hair and metal teeth that often threatened to close around her neck. He was objectively strange, almost alien and almost certainly a monster. She should distance herself from him but she wanted to return the gesture.

"I guess I'm Harleen then. Harley."

"Run along now, Harley."

…

She shut the door with rolled eyes and he watched her go with flat eyes. He'd said so many things that he had to sort them into things he'd meant and things he had not. It surprised him to realise he absolutely meant what he'd said about killing the ripper. It would reassert his position as the scariest thing in the Gotham but maybe it would chase away the shadows that seemed to have leeched away the parts of Harley he found so interesting.

Her perfume lingered on his pillow. He'd smell it any time he tried to lie on the damn thing, which was less than ideal. Her presence made the plan… fuzzy? Joker was no less committed to exploiting those fragile cracks that he saw in her but there was something else.

The definition for what exactly proved frustratingly elusive. She was just there. In his head and under his skin.

In some way that made him more determined to crush her. And in another way, he'd missed the spider web of her mind, the manufactured persona that she projected and the dark core she protected.

He shook his head and raked his fingers down his face. Joker would just miss playing with her, that was all. It was rare to find a person that didn't bore him quickly. Perhaps the Batman. Maybe even Frost with his unique brand of resilience. But neither of them had actively played back, so to speak.

Besides, he still had a favour to call in as a reward for his help finding the serial killer's pattern. He had not forgotten that and could just imagine the delightful ways he could exploit the doctor. The possibilities were endless.

…

Harley headed back to her apartment building as dawn broke across the city. None of the armed personnel said anything about the fact she was wearing the same clothes from last night. She had told them she was going to catch up on some work and they had accepted that even at eleven pm. They had no idea that Jeremiah wasn't expecting her back at work until next week yet.

It was a week that had stretched out in front of her and filled her with anxiety. It gave her nothing but time to think about what had happened to her. Harley scratched idly at some of the stitches in her arm. They'd begun to itch, which was a sure sign the cuts were healing but annoying none the less.

She was crossing the lobby when she heard her name called out. The loudness made her freeze.

The person repeated her name, quieter and softer this time. With the warmness of familiarity.

Harley turned and saw Jonathon. She saw the way his mouth twisted as he took in the visible bandages, her pallor and the way she flinched.

"What are you doing here?" It was the first thing she could think to ask. The sight of him after so long transfixed her. His sharp cheek bones, his crystal eyes, his immaculate presentation. It struck her that he didn't belong here. That, despite his transgressions, he belonged in Europe, drinking wine and discussing literature and luring people in like a drug with his intellect and wit.

And he definitely wasn't supposed to see her like this. Broken and scared and unsure of what the fuck to do with herself.

Harley could tell he was annoyed by the question. "Because," he snapped out with biting coldness that was betrayed by the expression in his eyes, "you were hurt."

"I told you I was fine," Harley countered dumbly.

"Yes well, I didn't believe you. Turns out last minute tickets from Europe sometimes have enough stop overs that it takes you more time than if you'd just waited a few days for a flight."

His griping didn't stop him from examining her with eyes she recognised as clinical. She hated when he tried to profile her like that. But she crossed the distance between them in a few quick steps and flung her arms around his neck.

The gesture threw him. They'd always been so stingy with physical affection. After a pause, his arms wrapped around her. His fingertips dug into her back, the only indication he'd been afraid for her.

Harley breathed him in, pleased beyond words that he was here. Pleased in a way that tapered off into a pointy bit of discomfort - he had no idea she'd just come from Joker's bed. She didn't think he'd enjoy being reminded of the man Harley had chosen to stay and treat over going overseas with Jonathon.

They finally released each other after it became apparent that the armed presence was staring at her. Their confusion indicated they recognised Jonathon but weren't sure how. Rather than explaining why the Scarecrow of Gotham was visiting her, Harley ushered him towards the elevator and peppered him with questions about his trip. He arched an eyebrow to let her know that he saw through her feeble attempts at distraction but was choosing to play along for now.

He delighted her further when he produced a bottle of wine from an Italian vinyard. Since she looked like such shit, he didn't even try and get extra points by bragging about the price tag of the bottle.

"You have to wait until at least noon," he faux-scolded her. Harley poked her tongue out in an unexpected playfulness.

"I've technically just come back from work," she pointed out and poured them both a glass.

"Only you would go straight back to work. You're a force of nature, Harleen."

"Sure." She agreed blandly and took a sip, making Jonathon chuckle.

That niggling feeling lodged in her ribs.

"You really didn't need to come home," she repeated out of obligation. The honest thrill of seeing him stuck in her throat.

"You shouldn't have been such an obnoxious fibber and then I could have stayed." He shucked off his coat and rolled up the crisp sleeves of his shirt. His face had reset into neutral lines, which could easily be mistaken for severity if you didn't know him better.

"If it makes you feel better, I lied to my own parents," Harley offered with a shrug. They'd been harder to avoid than Jonathon, on a whole other continent.

Her mother had come to visit her at the hospital but Harley had already gone home and she somehow dissuaded her from coming all the way to her apartment across with the promise that Harley would visit soon. She still hadn't gone but she compromised by calling her every day. She also told her mum that she was back at work.

"You're a wretch," Jonathon rebuked with no sting to it. He pretended to glance around her apartment as if it might have changed dramatically in his absence but he was really just taking the opportunity to watch her.

"Since you're so terrible, I was thinking I should sleep here for a few nights."

Harley schooled her face into consideration. Jonathon in her house. Jonathon between her and Graham!

"I think you're being silly," she said instead.

Jonathon shot her with a withering stare. "You may be a doctor but you clearly have no sense of self preservation. I'll stay in case you need any medical attention."

"Your license was revoked," she observed unkindly with a sip of wine. Jonathon a few months ago would have cut her back with barbed words and stalked for the door.

"I know enough to help you, Harleen," he said softly.

"Fine," Harley said, throwing up her hands and hiding her smile. "You can hover if you'd like. But I have to go into work again tonight."

"Tonight?"

"It's quieter then. I prefer it that way at the moment."

Just broken enough to be believable but she was already lying. She had questions that needed answering.

…

Joker was playing a one sided game of checkers in the common room after a dissatisfying meal of soup and pudding. It wasn't that he didn't have an opponent but that said opponent seemed more interested in licking the playing pieces than moving them. That was fine with him. He was just happy to be somewhere that wasn't his room. With no therapy sessions, his days were pretty monotonous now.

Especially as he was deemed far too dangerous to participate in some of the more benign activities of the asylum. At this stage he was so bored that he probably would have behaved in art class.

He spent long hours fantasising about breaking out of this hellhole. Drinking half a bottle of anything about 50 percent alcohol and driving his car with breakneck speed through the streets.

Instead he moved one of the pieces. He was cheating but frankly that seemed less bad than licking everything in arms reach.

He was actually looking forward to getting a few hours sleep tonight. He could survive off four or five hours every second day or so but he'd gotten used to the routine of the asylum and the late night arrival of the doctor had thrown him off.

While he was watching the other patient pick up a piece and forgo the licking only to start gently chewing, one of the therapists approached him.

A soft spoken woman who he hadn't had much to do with but who also had never ordered the taser when he misbehaved.

"How are you, Mr J?"

"As good as one could be in a nut house," he replied sweetly. At the same time, the patient spat the piece back onto the board.

"How can I help you?" he pressed with exaggerated politeness.

He saw her eyes drift past the damaged tattoo on his forehead as if trying to reconcile this lucid conversation with the man who would ink his skin like that.

"Doctor Quinzel is in her office. She said she knows it's after dinner, but would you consent to an evening session?"

Joker would consent to a number of Harley's requests, and that response sat tempting on his tongue but he exercised some restraint instead. "I'm at her disposal."

Maybe he laid it on a bit thick but the other doctor widened her eyes before gesturing to some guards. His hands were restrained but she would never risk walking the corridors of Arkham with him alone.

"Please escort Mr J to Doctor Quinzel's office."

If he walked compliantly, the guards didn't clamp onto his elbows anymore, content to flank him. Well, with the exception of Jason, who had taken the hit to the gut. He was still skittish around him.

It was progress though. And in some small measure, freedom. Freedom he didn't have when he first got here. Was it possible it wasn't only the doctor he was luring into a false sense of security? Either way, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Joker was ushered into Harley's office without incident. The halls were starting to empty as the last of the day staff left.

The owner of the office was standing behind her desk, inspecting her bookcase with an unusual interest and biting on her thumb nail. It was as close to a nervous tic as he'd ever seen her exhibit.

She abandoned that posture as soon as he entered, assuming a neutral, composed expression. Although it was obvious there was another meal sitting on top of her desk, his attention was for Harley.

The shadows under her eyes were faded and she was actually wearing make up again. She appeared to have actually chosen an outfit as well, wearing a boring black dress. On the surface she was almost back to normal, if one could ignore the bandages. But he knew how to look at her properly. He was used to spotting the lace work of fractures hiding behind the presentation.

"Feeling better, princess?" he asked easily, not waiting for her invitation to sit down and attack the food. Pasta. Although he was disappointed it didn't require a knife, he was thrilled to have the opportunity to chew all the same. If she would just undo his wrist restraints, then he'd be pretty content with the night's turn of events.

He heard rather than saw Harley release a breath.

"Much." She took a seat across from him and thumbed at a glass that had already been filled with liquor. The soft impress of lips at the rim told him she had already started drinking.

He cataloged that information without looking at her. "Drinking alone? You must be stressed."

"When did you get so interested in my life?"

"Since you started plying me with food and started looking like you could use a therapist of your own." He chanced a glance up at her.

Her lips quirked into what might have been a smile, but it was quickly forced back into neutrality. He watched the shifting expressions with interest. After last night it seemed futile to try and build those walls up between them but couldn't blame a girl for trying. If she made this easy then he would have lost interest straight away.

Instead of responding to his deliberate poke at her, she reached for the empty glass close by and filled it up. She poured a generous dram and passed it to him. Harley did all this but kept him in her sights. Her steady scrutiny didn't bother him, though he feigned obliviousness.

"Why did you try and help me?" she asked. The question didn't surprise him - he'd been expecting it after all. He hadn't decided in advance the best way to answer it though.

He gave a one shouldered shrug, his mouth still full of food. "You interest me."

It was a tightrope he was walking. Too mushy, and she would smell a rat. Too blasé and there was nothing to reel her in with.

He drummed twitchy fingers across the desk and flashed her a toothy grin. She didn't return it.

Instead she flicked her eyes to the clock like she had somewhere to be but made no move to go.

"You interest me too."

Nothing very profound in that statement but it sounded like a confession. His eyes hardened, scenting the vulnerability that was normally so far under the surface that Harley herself forgot it existed. It was such an enticing contradiction. Funny to see someone so self-possessed lack so much self-awareness.

It was enough to make him cackle in his chair. That spontaneous laugh that burst up from his chest and seemingly had no connection to anything in proximity. It unnerved most people.

"What's funny?"

"Everything, Doc."

Maybe it was his gleeful abandon but she relinquished the iron control enough to let herself smile.

She put her chin in her hand. "I'm sure most people believe that. But I don't think you're as happy as your smile makes you out to be."

Joker used the tattoo on the back of his hand to disguise what became a snarl. The familiar tightness wrapped around his chest like a vice. She seemed to see past the clown into the person he'd almost forgotten he was.

Harley maintained her grin but it was razor sharp now. Fuck, he thought it was hot but by the same token he wanted to wipe that superiority off her face. Less than 24 hours ago, she'd been slinking into his room, broken and scared.

"I've thought of my favour," he announced abruptly, almost flatly.

He enjoyed the wariness on her face, just as he enjoyed the impromptu idea. He was thoroughly sick of her self control. He needed it gone.

"I want to watch you. Watch your face."

"Excuse me?"

He leaned back in his chair and swirled the liquor that had remained unTouchéd until now. "You heard me."

"Watch me what?" Harley was adorably confused by his question.

Joker tilted his head and waggled a free finger. "Doctor Harleen Quinzel" - he made her name sound like an insult - "so in charge. So distant. I want to see Harley."

"You're making no sense," she scoffed, but she took a sharp swallow and the skin above her collarbones turned red.

"You're an arrogant bitch some days, Princess," Joker noted, still maintaining a facade of nonchalance. "What happens when you surrender yourself to your body? To your impulses? I want to see that."

Maybe it was the booze but Harley blurted out, "I'm not having sex with you."

Joker raised his eyebrows. He was starting to wonder if flustered Harley was his favorite Harley. Though it was hard to usurp the soft spot he felt for the Harley who looked like she'd slit your throat without qualms.

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much, but no. I fully intend to keep my hands to myself. It's your hands I'm interested in."

The bloom of colour across her cheekbones told him when she figured out what he wanted.

He anticipated her protests. "You owe me, Harls."

A muscle in her cheek tightened and he waited in anticipation for how she would try and get out of this promise. She became fixated on tracing her finger around the rim of her glass.

"You want me to get myself off?" she clarified. "So you can see my face?"

He spread his palms wide, trying to appear innocent. "That's all. After everything I've done to help you, it's such a small thing to ask." He turned the full affect of his startling, unnatural blue eyes on her.

Harley exhaled, downed her drink and met his stare across the desk. "Alright."

He wrangled the triumph down and replaced it with solemness.

She relaxed back into the chair and within a few seconds of inelegant wiggling, her underwear was in hand. Harley displayed it to him defiantly before letting the scarp of fabric fall to the ground.

There were a lot of things Joker could say about her, but she was brazen around him. Now that she knew the score, she refused to lower her eyes in embarrassment. Her lips were pressed together as if to really inform him how unhappy she was with him right now but she'd be damned if she'd back down to him.

Her hand traced a line down between her breasts and disappeared under the desk. Her shoulders rolled backwards, balancing the tilt of her hips. The breath she drew in through her nose was deeper than her breathing had been.

"Desk is kinda in the way, Doc," Joker pointed out, fighting to stay even as every instinct in his body was telling him to stalk, to hunt, to claim.

She tilted her head in a way the was innately condescending. "You only specified you wanted to see my face."

"Oh we're cheating now?"

"Make better deals," she shot back, her lips parting softly.

He wanted to break all the glasses in the room but she'd gotten him there. She was giving him what he requested and not a bit more. He chuckled quietly and saluted her with his drink.

"Touché, princess. Next time I'll know to be much more explicit."

Harley chose not to respond to the small concession of victory. He watched her with almost clinical fascination at first. It wasn't the first time he'd seen her drop her guard but this didn't even compare.

Her breath caught in her chest as if her body wanted to contain every sensation and not share anything. He found himself matching her rhythm. Harley's pale skin flushed, her eyes fluttering closed and then opening as if she was forcing herself to look right back at him. The colour was a nice contrast to the pallidness of the last few days and as her expression animated, he he no longer saw the bandages that marked her as wounded.

With the desk obstructing his view, his imagination ran wild and his long fingers tightened against the glass as he imagined replacing her hands with his own. He almost did just that when the first moan brushed past her lips. But he stayed put with almost super human effort. This wasn't about him, not even really about his entertainment. This was to see just how much he could tug on the doctors strings and she'd still obey.

Joker repeated that thought in his head like a mantra as Harley rolled into her own touch, sinking lower into her chair. This was a power move nothing more.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lips and her shoulders began to shake as she tumbled closer to climax, seeking it out but struggling to exert some control on the overwhelming energy inside of her.

He leaned forward. He couldn't help it - he was drawn to her in this moment like a magnet. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd seen a woman submit to pleasure but it hadn't been nearly as intoxicating as watching Harley was.

Sirens sounded in the back of his head, reminding him to be wary of her. But he shoved that voice aside; maybe he was over confident or maybe he was just too invested in the scene playing out before him but he didn't want to think about whether she was pulling on his strings right back.

Harley's spine tensed and she cried out which would have been a perfectly satisfying end to the whole affair in his books but as she let herself fall over that edge, her blue eyes, ocean to his electricity, met his and swallowed him whole.

 **AN: APOLOGIES FOR THE DELAY, PLEASE REVIEW**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I thought I got the notion of Harley's father being a criminal from canon but when I tried to search it for more details, turns out it was likely fanon. So while I'm not sure where I absorbed it, I did not invent it and credit goes to those wonderful creators out there.**

Harley zipped up her jacket against the unusually chilly morning and tried not to scowl. For someone who focused almost exclusively on the mind and had an above average intelligence, she had certainly allowed herself to be manipulated here.

Her mother, deceptively smart herself, smiled and kept her face a lovely mask. They both looked at the gym across from them.

"You know, I almost forgot this was here," her mother mused.

Harley bit the inside of her cheek and resisted the urge to fix her mother with a withering stare. She was annoyed, a little bit impressed, and totally cognisant that it was her own error in judgement that had led them to the spot she had trained for over a decade.

Not wanting to spend over long in the too-small house she'd grown up in, Harley had suggested going for a walk instead, showing up in active wear and with a plea that it would help her physiotherapy.

Her father was working that Saturday, so it was just her and her mom out on the quiet streets.

"It was such a shame you gave up gymnastics in college. Who knows how far you could have gone!"

This was her mother's constant refrain. Most parents would be thrilled that their child became a doctor but it was almost like Harley's change of focus created a divide between them. Harley knew her mother was smart, she had an uncanny ability to read people - an ability Harley had inherited - but she hardly considered herself an academic.

She knew a lot about gymnastics but she didn't know anything about psychosis.

"Because," Harley began, reminding herself to be patient, "I was never good enough to compete internationally and there aren't many career options for gymnasts once they turn 30."

"Hmm so you say," her mom responded, nodding her head like she wasn't at all convinced.

"I do say," Harley reaffirmed, nudging her mom with her elbow.

"We should go in for old times sake."

"You're like a dog with a bone," Harley chided but let her mom pull her up the path. Years had passed but nothing had changed. Harley knew the scratched red door in complete detail. In fact she was the one who had scratched the small heart in the bottom corner once while waiting for her mom to pick her up.

The musty mix of cleaning liquid and sweat hit her the second she walked in and Harley experienced a reflexive flutter in her stomach. The pre-dose of adrenaline before a competition.

It was early enough that streets outside were empty but the first classes had started inside. The coach leading warm-up noticed them. Harley recognised her but didn't know her well which was a relief. She acknowledged their arrival with a wave but didn't break from the session she was running.

"You can't miss this place," Harley said in hushed tones. "All you did was wait around and watch me."

"I was your mom, I _liked_ watching you," her mom said. She wore a fond smile, her cheeks flushed from the wind. It was easy to forget that her mother wasn't old. She'd had Harley when she was sixteen and unlike most teen dads, her father had actually stuck around. At least until he'd spent his first stint in jail.

Her mom had worked two jobs to put food on the table and still found time to be there for Harley's gymnastic practices and competitions.

It wasn't that Harley had come to hate gymnastics; after all, it had gotten her into college. But she had just known there was no future in it. She was good, really good even, but she wasn't the best and the parts of it she loved, didn't align with competing.

She loved the strength and power, she loved to let her body free to fly. She didn't like the shitty rules.

Almost despite herself she moved closer to the beam. It was suddenly very tempting to get back on and see what skills lay dormant.

The coach saw her move and gave a nod to say that she was welcome to it. Making sure her jacket still covered her wrists and kicking off her shoes, she lifted herself onto the beam. Harley had very deliberately worn clothes that covered the healing scars. The stitches were gone now but the scars were pink and shiny still.

"How does it feel?" her mum crossed her arms and looked up at Harley.

"Weird," Harley confessed. "But kind of nice."

She bounced on the balls of her feet to test her balance. Pleased and surprised, Harley remained steady. Her thigh gave a twinge of protest but held. The exercises she was doing had helped and she was sleeping better even if she still had nightmares. When those nights happened, she eased herself away from Jonathon's side and went to Arkham.

She chased away any images of silver, shark grins and put one foot in front of the other. It was a routine about as complicated as any of the children in the gym could complete but her mom gave a small round of applause all the same.

Instead of being annoyed by the disproportionate enthusiasm, Harley smiled wryly. Maybe it was her doting audience but Harley felt brave enough to try a few of the more complicate turns and balances. It was far from flawless but it wasn't bad.

When her body finally cried out at her to stop, they walked to a small coffee shop nearby.

"I wish you would get a safer job," her mom said quietly and abruptly, causing Harley to splutter on her mouthful.

"Where did that come from?" Harley demanded, wiping hot coffee from her chin.

Her mom gestured at her arm with shadowed eyes and Harley cursed. Distracted, she'd pushed up the sleeve of her jacket, exposing her forearm. The healing scars were visible.

"You told me it wasn't that bad."

For some reason this irritated Harley. Her mother hadn't needed to take her word for it. She could have pushed to see her earlier. She clamped down on those angry thoughts. Sharing them would only upset her mom, who meant well.

"I didn't want to worry you." It came out sharp and hot.

"I'm supposed to worry about you! Did he do this to you?"

"He?" Harley echoed, thoroughly confused.

"The Joker?" Her voice was hushed as she said his name.

Harley had been trying not to think about him. It had been a couple of nights since Harley had widened her legs under the table and let him watch her. Thinking about it still brought colour to her cheeks. Even though he hadn't touched her, she'd crossed a line. It would be enough to get her fired if anyone found out.

The only silver lining was his unsettled expression left in the wake of her gasps and pounding heart beat. And whatever he'd gotten out of it, it was enough to get him to behave in the night time sessions she'd been scheduling.

If his good behaviour soothed the part of her that was ashamed at confirming her colleagues worst thoughts about her, there was not much that eased the guilt she felt at being unable to sleep by Jonathon's side.

In the light, it was like old times. They could talk for hours and she wasn't scared, but as soon as it came time to sleep, Harley felt the trepidation creep back. Maybe if he'd initiated something in bed, it would have kept her mind off the fact that the shadows seemed to loom out at her, reaching for her ankles in the dark. For all their differences, both Jonathon and Joker seemed weirdly fixated on not touching her at the moment.

Her heartbeat would be normal when the lights were first switched off, but would steadily increase until it became an uncomfortable thrum inside her chest, constantly prepared to fight off an enemy that she couldn't see and logically knew wouldn't be able to get her here.

She'd resist the urge to seek the sanctuary of the Joker most nights, usually surrendering to sleep eventually. But some nights she'd dream about Graham and he'd carve her up until there was nothing left but a raw mess and everyone could see how little there was to her - how weak she was. And she'd slip out of the bed without waking Jonathon and go to the one person she was sure could protect her if he returned.

It made her sick to her stomach to depend on him this way, fiercely certain she should be able to defend herself, but unable to resist that rush of relief when she saw his stormy eyes, his metal teeth and patchwork of tattoos that reflected the chaos of his mind, laid bare on his skin. He was a weapon. One that at present had no interest in turning on her. It was becoming addictive to seek him out, Harley could recognise this. But as much as she swore she wouldn't, it was a hard promise to stick to when she was scared.

"Harley," her mother prompted. She'd been silent longer than was comfortable and the sound of her nickname, which was only ever used by three people, threw her.

"No, it wasn't him. This didn't happen because of my normal job or my patients."

This answer seemed to satisfy her, even if she pursed her lips when she nodded. Not wanting to follow that line of discussion, Harley bit the bullet and started talking about gymnastics.

...

Joker let himself tilt back precariously in his chair. It was one of the few sessions Harley still held in a clinical room. The red light was blinking - this was being recorded. He was mindful of that as was his doctor.

He could tell which version of her he was going to get by the set of her shoulders. Doctor Harleen Quinzel or Harley.

He had the doctor today but part of him was relieved for that. He was still on edge from that incident a few nights back though he did his best to hide it behind glib jokes and defensive walls and he didn't think the Doctor had clued on yet. But it was hard to tell. Every now and again, he got the disconcerting sense she was looking at him, looking deeper into him than even he could see. It was just possible that she knew secrets about him that he didn't know.

When the paranoia settled over him, he became difficult to deal with; ruder and more abrasive. Certainly lewder too but the obnoxious manner of his delivery didn't rattle Harleen.

When the camera was on, they chased each others tail and never got far, not without a fight. Harley's increasing reliance on him hadn't fully overridden the doctor yet.

"Do you dream?" she asked, almost out of the blue.

It was these moments that convinced him she was reading the inside of his mind. How did she know that his dreams were the cause of a kinetic anxiety that flexed inside his chest, a bomb that was going to have to go off if only to get it out of him? Did she know he was ticking down to a point where the asylum became unbearable and he would have to raze something to the ground? An act of madness that would stabilize him for a time.

His actions didn't make sense to anyone other than him - the randomness of the destruction totally meaningless. They couldn't know that it was when he felt most like himself. Well, the himself he was now. The fingers of the past couldn't grasp at him if he was surging forward.

Actually, Harley would probably get it. But he wouldn't tell the Doctor.

He threaded his fingers together and tried to affect a civilized expression across the table. A muscle in her jaw ticked, which meant she wasn't fooled. They both knew her questions were too close for comfort and he was thinking about throwing furniture.

"We all dream, doctor."

It was a non-answer. One he knew would irk her but look good on the transcript of their treatments.

"Dreaming is a universal and yet completely unique experience. I want to know what _you_ dream."

"You didn't ask that question," he retorted, chiding her.

"I should have been more explicit about what I wanted to know." The words were spoken evenly, her face bland but he caught the slight emphasis on the word explicit and resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows across the table.

Joker knew it was a reference to the other night. Her moans were branded across the inside of his skull as permanent as the smile on his hand. It was blatant recklessness to remind him of that incident on camera. A few words and her career would be down around her ears. She was gambling on him playing along.

He rolled his head from side to side like a snake eyeing it's prey. Fuck her. But she was right. He would play along. Because it was more fun to walk the tightrope with her than to not.

"More transparency is always a good thing, Doc. The more I see of you, the more I'm inclined to trust you. It gives me an idea of how much of me you can handle."

It wasn't as subtly crafted as her initial volley but he had the advantage of the expectation of bad behaviour. And maybe it was his imagination but she shifted in her seat.

Her smile was maddeningly indulgent. "I think I can take you. But therapy goes so much better if you accept me as a guide."

Joker moved forward, hands under the metal table. "I've always been happy for you to lead by example."

And with those words, he ran the pads of his fingers over her knee, where the camera couldn't see, before wrapping his hands around her leg. Harley froze under his touch. It was the first time he'd made contact in a long time and he was surprised how warm her body was.

"What was the question again, Doctor?" he prompted, showing too many teeth as he grinned across the table.

"Dreams," she bit out. "What do you dream about?"

"Hmm, let me think." He made a show of pondering while his fingers stroked against the silk of her stockings, barely separating his skin from hers. The camera none the wiser of his bold actions. "The usual things."

"Such as?" The hold on her control was iron but she hadn't pushed his hand away which was a risk.

"Violence. blood. Sex." He punctuated each word with his hands, meeting her gaze on the last one.

Harley refused to drop his stare. Instead she shuffled her chair closer.

He laughed out loud, seemingly without prompt on the cameras. She always surprised him and now she was daring him. With this new proximity his hands could slide higher, ghosting lightly across her thigh.

"Do you recall details?"

Joker was impressed that she could still ask questions when he was pretty preoccupied with the toned thigh against his palm. He could feel the tension she was holding in her body and suddenly the pucker of a scar. This was where she'd been stabbed.

He traced it with interest and the anger uncurled in his belly. Even as Graham's marks faded from her soul, her body would bear witness to his torture. It wasn't right that there was no testimony to his claim on her.

"Sometimes I dream about thunder storms," he said, attention mostly on searching for any other wounds and injuries. "They come from the horizon."

"Do you like thunder storms?"

He didn't answer for a minute, absorbed by the patterns he was drawing on her skin. The repetitive motion soothed the possessive rage that would most certainly kill the mood if he let it take the reins.

"They used to block out the screams."

A pause, a small breath, Harley moved closer.

"Whose screams?"

"Hers. Sometimes the child's."

"You didn't want to hear them?"

He shook his head, eyes on the place Harley's neck meet her shoulders, the delicate collar bone and the swell of her breasts as she breathed. What would it be like to dig his teeth into the skin there, right over the pulse point he could see fluttering?

"Why were they screaming?"

"They were hurt."

"Who hurt them?"

"Lot's of people."

His fingers were higher now. On the smooth skin of her inner thigh. His touch brushed lightly over the cotton material under her stockings. A second barrier between them but so fucking flimsy that he could feel her heat. It would take seconds to tear them off.

Harley's breath was stilted. He was barely touching her but there was a weight in the room. Almost like the pressure in the atmosphere before a storm. She would let him demand more, he was sure of it.

"Who are they? These people in your dream?"

As if a bubble popped, Joker wrenched his hands back. Part of him knew they'd been talking, part of him was surprised Harley had kept asking questions while he'd actively tried to throw her off, to pull on her stings and make her dance. The skin of her throat was flushed, but her eyes were cold.

She was playing with him right back.

"I don't fucking know," he mumbled, pulling himself to his feet. Harley stood too.

"Don't know or don't want to know," she asked urgently, trying to grab a hold of his strings now.

Joker had an answer, but he didn't want to say it aloud, to give it to her. He snatched up the chair, one of the few things not bolted down in the room and threw it. It didn't hit Harley but it came close. It should have been enough to scare her silent but it didn't.

"The child? Is it you?"

The edges of his vision blurred. In seconds, he had her shoved hard against the wall, his arm pressed against her throat. The perfect spot to choke the questions out of her if she didn't shut up.

Incredulously, she spoke again. "Fucking coward," she spat out at him, the words capped by the strangled throat. The room erupted around them, guards came in with tasers and shouts and Harley took advantage of the commotion to push him away from her.

A bloom of red in her skin was what he saw as they plunged a needle into him. That and her parted lips and icy eyes.

...

Harley stifled her cries with her hand as the other brought herself to orgasm. She was closeted away in her bathroom and when she'd left Jonathon he'd been watching a documentary.

She'd barely been able to sit still next to him. Still vibrating with the events of the day, his touch between her thighs and then on her throat. She didn't know which had worked her up more but the ache hadn't dissipated with his drugging.

She'd taken it home with her until it became impossible to ignore and she slunk off, claiming she needed a bath to soothe her muscles. Jonathon accepted it without question. Harley had found a gymnasium closer to her house and had been going every second or third day.

She was stronger and more powerful but she'd spent more than a few evenings soaking her tired body.

And now she was hiding away, thinking about Joker. The fear mixed with lust and the triumph of getting him to talk. He'd been honest with her or he wouldn't have gotten that furious.

It turned her on more than it should and it was messed up.

Harley let her head fall back against the tub as her breathing returned to normal. Yeah, she was in a mess alright.

 **AN: Please review!**


	21. Chapter 21

_Oh you give me love_

 _Just to break my heart_

 _Put me back together_

 _Just to pull me apart_

 _You give me a hand and kick me to the ground_

 _Oh you fill me up_

 _Just to tear me down_

...

Harley didn't see Joker again for a full week after he attacked her. She wanted to more than half a dozen times and those half a dozen times it was his name on her lips as she sprawled in the bathroom.

He was in lock down for his bad behaviour but she could have organised a session with him, he still had permissions to attend treatment after all. Part of her was punishing him.

He wanted to throw her up against a wall then he could languish with his nightmares for a while. It would be more satisfying if hadn't started to feel like she was punishing herself. She was fidgeting like an addict on a come down.

He may be in her system but there was still one drug she'd choose over him. Power. And letting him rot alone in his cell was power even if she knew it would do nothing for his mental health or their rapport.

She consoled herself by pouring over his case file again. It was one of the fullest she'd ever seen and possibly the least enlightening. This was maybe the hundredth time she'd read it but now she had some more context.

His dreams about a hurt child couldn't be any more vague but it was still a clue. It could be a representation of his forgotten childhood. It could be purely symbolic. Whatever it was or wasn't, Harley knew it was new insight into an enigmatic man.

She also had her apartment to herself again which was a mixed blessing. As predicted, Jonathon had soon realised he was neck deep in domestic life and had extricated himself. Harley wasn't offended - in so many ways he reminded her of a cat. Capable of warmth and affection but only on their terms.

On one hand, she no longer had to stifle her moans and she was able to read the Joker's file ad nauseam on the comfort of her couch. On the other hand, his absence left the apartment feeling emptier than before. And more than ever, she had the sense of unfinished business between them.

All that time in her bed and he hadn't touched her. Anyone else and Harley would have written them off. But in Jonathon it piqued her interest.

Sometimes she wasn't sure who owned the blue eyes in her fantasies.

She was a woman divided. When she was near Jonathon, she was consumed with thoughts of green hair and messy ink and the thought of teeth sinking into her thigh hard.

When he was gone, she still thought of Joker but it was so she'd stop wondering what the fuck was going through Jonathon's head.

She knew Jonathon Crane and knew his ego would love the fact he had her puzzling again. Harley realised it wasn't healthy to distract herself from the complicated relationship with Jonathon by seeking to spend time with a mass murderer who had tried to choke her.

She rang Arkham, scheduled a session all the same and planned it perfectly.

Maybe it was dangerous but she was going to prod the bear and see what happened.

...

Joker was disappointed in himself for the level of excitement he experienced when they told him he could eat dinner in the cafeteria. It wasn't anything special but staring at nothing but white walls was enough to anyone crazy... crazier?

Maybe he should have known something was up when they led him to a table rather than let him collect food. The table was unoccupied except for his recently elusive therapist.

Harley was sitting there holding a cup of pudding with a blank expression.

He would have greeted her more boisterously but her face was the first sign that everything wasn't returning to normal. Not yet.

"Harls."

He took the seat opposite her. Hands on the table so everyone could see them. It wasn't just so the guards would know he wasn't up to anything but also so Harley would look at his long fingers, pale and illustrated ,and think about what he'd done to her.

Sometimes fear didn't need big gestures or loud noises.

Her eyes didn't even flick downwards. Her shirt was lower-cut then strictly professional. He could see the swell of her breasts. Pleasant visual but he didn't enjoy it. Carefully constructed Harley didn't do anything casually.

She was flaunting the unblemished skin to show him how little impact he'd had. It was as calculated a display as his hands. In fact she was showing more skin than he expected and all her brand new scars were there for anyone to see. Maybe that was a deliberate move too.

He hoped she didn't know how possessive those marks made him feel, how they sent tension straight up his spine. Joke tried to look at all the pieces in between the wounds because if he focused on them he was likely to try and rip the table out of the ground. They were on a see-saw for dominance and one wrong move might tip it in her favour.

Joker drank in the details of Harley that weren't going to send him into a temper tantrum. She was obviously sleeping better, her skin had some colour from the sun. Her arms were more toned than he remembered and realised there was a new rigidity to her posture.

She let him look at her and she stayed quiet. Not passive quiet either but sternly silent. Her lack of words made him uncomfortable. They were her first weapon so what was she waiting for?

"Are you ready to take me back as a patient, Doc?"

He sounded glib but he was acutely aware of the listening ears all around. She hadn't dismissed the guards like normal. It was also dinner time which meant that the room was milling with patients and medical professionals with enough sanity to listen to them.

She tapped a finger nail against the top of the unopened pudding. The nail was blood red.

"I am. But with one condition."

Joker tilted his head and slouched backwards, creating a wary distance between them. "Why should I give you a damn thing?"

"Because even you don't want to spend every day of your miserable life alone," she fired back, tone cold. He hated to admit it but she was right. Having no one but his own thoughts for company in a small room with no distractions sounded pretty shit. But that all depended on the terms.

He rapped his knuckles on the table. "What's the condition?"

"I want an apology. Right here, right now."

He narrowed his eyes at Harley. "An apology?"

"Tell me you're sorry for trying to strangle me the other day."

Joker snorted loudly. "That's it?"

"That's it. I'll even give you this afterwards." She proffered the pudding cup which seemed like a poor offering after the rare steak she'd given him not that long ago. Not known for being much more than impulse personified, Joker still knew a trap when he saw one. It sounded like such an innocent offer but it was laden with subtext.

They both knew the value of the infamous Joker apologising for his violent outburst and in front of so many witnesses.

Keeping a broad smile painted on his face, he smoothed back the green hair that threatened to fall in his face. It had the double effect of showing her the tattoo on his forehead, reminding her who she was dealing with. She didn't flinch.

"I'm not a dog for you to leash," he hissed all the while maintaining his pleasant demeanor.

"And I'm not a victim for you to strangle," Harley retorted, hands drifting almost unbidden to her throat. Catching herself before following through on the vulnerable gesture she mirrored him and smoothed down her already impeccable blond hair.

Her face might as well be made of stone for all it was giving away but there was heat in her eyes now. Maybe she wanted to slam his face into the table. Maybe she wanted something else, something from him.

"You liked it." The realisation dawned on him. He said it softly, only for her to hear.

"Apologise!" she snapped, loud enough for everyone to listen.

It wasn't enough to rattle her, she was still going to make him go through with it. Fury uncurled in his chest. No matter the truth of the situation, that his arm against her throat had got her hot under the collar, she was going to win this round if she got him to apologise.

Joker weighed his options with lightening speed. He could probably kill her with his bare hands before they got close. She had made him angry enough to consider it. But when the reality of the option sunk in - Harley gone, no more Harley - he kept his hands where they were, trembling slightly with rage.

He lifted his chin and made sure she could see the lie in his eyes when he spoke. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I didn't mean to hurt you."

The room seemed stunned into silence and he comforted himself by picturing them all dead. Every single person in the room lying on the floor with their throat ripped out.

"You can leave us," Harley said over his shoulder to the guards, who faded away and left them with some privacy.

Harley smirked at him and then slid the pudding cup across the table.

"Good dog," she murmured with an almost unbearable smugness.

He didn't take the food. His stomach was nothing more than churning ice and hate.

"You enjoy your little victory, Harley. I'm gonna make you regret it."

Harley arched a disbelieving eyebrow and started to stand. "Whatever you say, puddin'."

"I'm going to choke the breath out of you one day," he growled, fixing her with a flat stare. "I'll choke you and fuck you at the same time. And you'll like that too but I'll make you hate it too. And I know your little secret now, Doc. I know your panties are probably getting wet just thinking about it."

Harley had frozen by the table and her fingers curled into a fist. Perhaps she was going to hit him. Instead she placed her lips right near his ear. "I'm not wearing any underwear," she whispered to him before nipping his earlobe with such speed he wasn't sure it even happened.

She was gone before anyone could process that anything out of the ordinary had occurred. He was left fuming and breathing hard, trying to ignore his dick hardening in his pants.

...

Feet pounded the pavement. Harley was running fast. Faster than was probably wise given the last time she had really gone running was years ago. She'd started light jogging to supplement her gymnastics training but tonight she was running like the devil was chasing her.

There was someone behind her but it wasn't the devil. It was a scarecrow.

Jonathon was having a tough time keeping pace with her but she appreciated the effort. She'd practically heard his confusion when she texted him to see if she wanted to go running instead of meeting at restaurant.

He'd said yes and kept any observations to himself so far.

Harley had a stitch in her side and the healing skin of her arms felt tight as she pumped them back and forward for speed.

She was trying to drain her body. It was filled with too much energy, triumph and frustration in even measure.

Harley ran until her thigh buckled and she was forced to stop. Jonathon caught up with her and hunched forward with his hands on his knees.

"You wanted to talk about it?" he asked in between gulping down air.

"No."

"Really? You'd rather just kill us both from exhaustion?"

"Maybe." She sounded petulant but how could she explain it to Jonathon?

"What happened at work?" he asked, despite her attempts to shut down the conversation.

"The usual."

Jonathon rolled his eyes, an undignified display for him. "If you don't want to tell me that's fine. But don't insult me by lying to me."

Harley rubbed her mouth. He was right. Jonathon wasn't someone she could throw off the scent by lying.

"You ever feel like you're taking one step forward and seven steps backwards?"

"All the time." His gaze was heavy on her for a moment, making it harder to breath than it already was. "Is this about the most notorious patient at Arkham?"

Jonathon's voice was neutral but Harley saw something in his eyes that was scary. For her sake, he wouldn't say anything about the fact he was her patient but she could tell he didn't think much about him.

Knowing it would just annoy him if she lied again, Harley exhaled. "Just when I think I get a win on him, he does something that makes me want to-" _Hit him? Fuck him? Kill him? All of the above?_ "-scream."

"You're doing better than anyone thought. You got him to apologise to you. That's a massive break through, to get him to take responsibility for his actions."

"How do you know about that?" Harley asked.

Jonathon shrugged. "I still have connections, even without my license."

That was interesting. Harley wondered what else Jonathon might know.

"He was lying through his teeth," Harley argued, choosing not to interrogate Jonathon about his so-called connections.

"He wouldn't even lie for anyone else. Take this win, Harleen. Fight again tomorrow."

It made sense. Jonathon always managed to appeal to the level-headed, logical part of her. She even felt calmer.

"You're probably right," she conceded grudgingly.

"Probably?"

"More than likely. Stop fishing for compliments about how smart you are."

Jonathon chuckled, his cheeks still flushed from the exercise. It was unusual to see him as anything other than perfectly composed. Even as it reminded her a little of his brief dabbling with insanity, Harley realised she liked it.

Without thinking she brushed a lock of hair away from his sweaty skin. The blue of his eyes was suddenly very dark and Harley felt the urge to run fast all over again.

"Do you want to keep going?" she asked, pretending everything was normal.

Jonathon checked his cell phone. "I can't, I have somewhere to be."

"Somewhere to be?" Harley prompted.

"Connections remember," he teased. Even when she glared at him, no answers were forthcoming.

"Fine." She threw her hands in the air. "Be mysterious. See if I care."

"Oh you do," Jonathon said assuredly. "Do you want me to call a car to get you home?"

Harley glanced around - the sun would still be up for another two hours and there were plenty of people milling around. She was safe for now.

"It's ok. I want to keep running for a bit longer."

"Are you sure," Jonathon also scanned the environment, but came up more suspicious than she was.

"Yes," Harley insisted and forced herself to laugh. "Go! I'm not going to get kidnapped in broad daylight on a busy street."

She wished she felt as confident as she sounded. She also wished Jonathon believed it too. But he didn't argue.

Not liking the concern on his face, Harley began running. She knew this neighborhood well and stuck to paths with lots of foot traffic. Graham might be out in the world but he wouldn't get her.

She repeated that in her head. But a snide voice that sounded suspiciously like the Joker asked why she was running so fast if she wasn't scared?

 _I'm running away from you_ , Harley informed the imaginary clown in her head. There he had lewd red lips and white face paint that masked some of the nuances of his expression. It was a barrier between them.

 _You don't have to run from me, Harls. I haven't hurt you. Not really._

 _Not yet._

 _You're running away from you_ , the clown countered. _F_ _rom what you want._

 _Shut up._

 _ **You** shut up!_ _I'm nothing but you. Just go home and get yourself off like the rest of the times I got under your skin._

 _I don't need to do that._

 _Oh you're afraid it won't be good enough this time. That it won't be as good as the real thing. Any time you want, you can come sit on my face, Harley Quin._

Laughter echoed in her head.

Harley clenched her jaw and moved faster, hoping her pounding heart would drown out the unwelcome conversation she was creating in her head.

 _And they call me the crazy one._ More laughter.

Harley was forced to slow her pace by a small crowd milling around on the side walk. It was exclusively women and Harley was curious despite the fact they tried to move out of her way with smiles and apologies.

"What's going on?" Harley asked one of the women breathlessly.

"Self defence class," the woman explained and Harley noticed they were all dressed in exercise gear.

She nodded but instead of running further, she stay in spot. The door opened and the women filed in, chatting and laughing. Harley watched them go. They had squared shoulders and confident eyes. All of them were muscled and lean. This wasn't a beginners class. Harley followed them in without being sure why.

If the attendees thought it was weird then they didn't say anything. She hovered in the corner until the class started, lead by a woman with an unplaceable accent and a no-nonsense attitude. Unable to help herself, Harley started to assess this woman. The way she spoke, the way she stood, screamed military. The only way Harley could guess her age was the gun metal streaks in her dark hair. And she knew her stuff. She moved fluidly and efficiently.

Harley stayed to watch the entire lesson, fixating by the self-possessed woman teaching.

Her presence didn't go unnoticed and the woman approached her.

"You have the look of someone who wants to fight." The woman skipped introductions. Harley raised her eyebrows. Clearly the assessment had gone both ways.

"What style is that? I don't recognise it."

"Krav maga."

"Are you Israeli?"

The woman shook her head. "Lebanese." She extended her hand. "Hamia."

Harley took it and noted the strength in her fingers. "Harleen."

"So Harleen? Do you want to join my class?"

"I really do."

...

"You getting into trouble again, Princess?"

Joker flicked his eyes to her bruised forearms when Harley looked at him confused. He saw the time it took to transfer her concentration from the game of chess to the question.

His apology still sat bitter on his tongue and his threats weren't forgotten but the burgers that were half eaten on her desk were enough of a peace offering for now. Their sessions had been stilted and combative since their show down in the cafeteria.

But Harley was almost back to normal when she summoned him to her office. As soon as the guards left, the Doctor was gone too. If she recalled his offer of rough sex she wasn't showing it, though he was willing to take bets that it had been on her mind. This evening was damn close to civilised.

"No trouble," she explained with a shake of her head and a wistful smile. She didn't elaborate.

"You haven't tried to dig inside my brain yet either. That's enough to make a man suspicious."

"What will put you at ease?" Was she flirting? A playful Harley was an interesting turn of events after she'd gone after his balls like that in front of everyone. He wanted to tell her to shove it up her ass but he wasn't strong enough to resist teasing her back.

He stroked his chin and pretended to think. "Answer a question for me, Harls."

She hesitated "One question." Ah good, there was razor wire there. He didn't want the sugar without the spice.

He paused for dramatic effect. "What's your favorite book?"

Harley laughed suddenly. "That's what you want to ask?"

He gave a one shouldered shrug, lounging back in the chair like a cat.

"Do you even read books?" Harley demanded, still smiling. "What's _your_ favorite?"

"IT. Easy."

"IT? The one about a killer clown? Could you be more of a cliché?"

"Probably." He watched her closely, waiting to see how she would answer. Alone in his room, he'd come to the conclusion, he didn't know where he stood with Harley. Not that long ago she'd crept into his bed, she'd asked him to kill her monsters, she'd abandoned herself to pleasure right in front of him. He had been convinced he had her hooked on the line like a stupid fish. But she'd effectively shattered that illusion when she'd played him like a fiddle and messed around in his brain. It was even more surprising when she'd gone out of her way to score points over him.

Joker liked chaos and unpredictability but he had a plan relying on anticipating her behaviour and manipulating her into doing what he wanted. If she wasn't as dependent on him as he thought then he was in a precarious position. He wasn't used to being on almost even footing with someone. It was more than time to score his own points.

"Alice in Wonderland," she finally told him.

He tampered the grin. If he showed too many silver teeth, maybe she'd sense she had made a mistake.

There was nothing over sensitive about telling him her favorite book but she had told him something true, something that meant something to her. He could see her cracks again, her desire for approval and connection. She hid them so well but he was building a map of her fragile planes and he was easing behind her barriers.

Joker couldn't pretend it wasn't the most fun he'd had outside of chasing down that over-sized and frustrating Bat. He got slowly to her feet, non-threatening maybe if you couldn't see his face.

Harley could and her muscles tensed. Maybe she would have stood up but he was looming over her before she could remember it was a good idea.

Standing now would put her body almost flush against his, and for all her bravado those last few days his invasion of her space still intimidated her. Though not nearly as much it would others. He'd seen grown men wet themselves when he looked at them like this. Harley, the suicidal bitch, was less scared than she was so god damned curious.

And hell take him, that curiosity snaked up over his skin like a physical touch and he was left with the most unfamiliar sensation of indecision. Kill or keep? Keep then kill. That had been his plan. But what was it now?

"We've been so angry at each other, Harls. I just want to be your friend."

"I doubt that," she managed to rasp out, eyes flicking to the door, to the bottle on the desk. He hoped she'd fight him. Maybe this point scoring wasn't going to be as subtle as he thought. Maybe subtle was entirely outside his repertoire?

Harley licked her bottom lip.

Or maybe it would be a little misdirection and Harley would mistake his intentions.

"I never properly apologized for hurting you," he continued, voice low and crooning.

"Yes you did." She was struggling for composure but it was disappearing in a bloom of colour across her skin.

Joker wrinkled his nose. "I said words. Words, words, words, words." He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. "Words are nothing more than pretty sounds." He brought his teeth together with a snap.

"What are you getting at?" Her last ditch effort to sound authoritative, to sound brave.

"Actions mean so much more than words."

He'd crossed the line by saying that and adrenaline pumped into her system but she had left it too late to try and stand. A fast hand on her shoulder kept her in her seat. He had height and leverage. Her eyes widened. People sometimes thought because he was lean he wasn't strong but he was. The baggy hospital clothes hid the lines of his muscles as well as they hid the cascading, inky laughter down his chest.

Harley opened her mouth to speak but before she could, he kicked her legs out wider. First one and then the other. She hadn't taken her heels off so if she chose to kick him now, he'd be on the rough end of a stiletto. Luckily Harley was frozen like a deer in headlights. And still she managed to keep her beautiful face calm.

Joker waggled his free finger in his face. "You bit my ear. Didn't you get raised better?"

"Who even raised you?" she shot back, voiced honeyed with anger. He did laugh then. Laughed because she was so freaking crazy and fearless. Her fingers were curled in a tight fist of anger.

Abruptly he sank to his knees before her. Whatever she'd been expecting, that wasn't it. She jumped in her seat.

He wrapped his hands around her calves before she could do anything. "Where are you going, Harls? I'm just trying to say I'm sorry."

"You're a fucking liar." She was holding herself rigid in her chair. "You're trying to prove something."

Of course she was right but he faked offence. Her pulse was visible in her neck. She was so scared it was intoxicating. So he did the only thing that would scare her more. He gave her a choice.

He released her suddenly and sat back on his heels. "If you don't want to accept my gesture of good will, then get up."

His hands were raised, palms open to show just how harmless he was. "Five seconds, Harls. Stand up and I'll let you go."

He counted out loud, dropping his fingers with every second.

"One."

The look on her face was indescribably wonderful.

"Two."

His voice was deeper, more menacing.

"Three."

Her heels planted harder in the carpet. Like she was going to stand up.

"Four."

One second left and it could still go either way.

"Five."

...

The count down came and went. Harley was still there. She glanced down at the chair as if surprised to find herself sitting there. Joker could hear her breath was ragged but she hadn't taken the opportunity to flee.

Moving with speed his arms wrapped around her legs, dragging her closer. Despite being there of her own free will she was so strained he half expected her to shatter when he touched her. But the scars were evidence she was made of tough stuff.

Her eyes fluttered closed and he was tempted to command she open them but he kept the demands nestled in his chest. There would be another time and place for barking orders at her. And besides, he was confident she would open her eyes all on her own.

He'd closed the distance between them. And with rough hands he forced the black dress high up over her thighs.

"You shouldn't." It was a broken whisper.

"I gave you a chance to leave, Harls. The time to tell me what I should and shouldn't came and went."

She made no move to push him away but he couldn't tell if it was because deep down she wanted whatever he was offering right now, despite the risk, or if she was still too shocked to function.

Her stockings ended mid-thigh in a snowflake motif of lace. Joker left them untouched. His interest was further north. Despite her coy confession earlier in the week, she was in fact wearing underwear but they were a black, patterned lace similar to the hose. Patterned enough that he could catch glimpses of skin underneath. Enough to ignite his imagination. It was flimsy material that would come apart easily in his hands.

He controlled himself and filed it away on the ever growing list of things he'd like to do to Harley if he had the time and the privacy. If she thought she was scared now, she'd know real fear if he had her entirely to himself.

When she'd made him apologise publicly, she as good as made him bark like a dog. Fair turnabout would be to bend her over the desk and take her from behind (another thing for the list) but the fun would stop there. A bit of creative thinking and the ramifications would last far longer.

Figuring she'd had enough punishment anticipating his actions, Joker bit the inside of her thigh. Her hips rolled forward even as her legs jerked away from him. He wound his arms around them like vines, stopping her from getting away from him.

Her eyes were open now, just like he knew they would be, and there was rows of red indents along her flesh.

Joker didn't give her time to catch her breath or time for him to overthink the deep feeling of satisfaction that came with leaving his own mark on her body.

Leaving the scant underwear in place her dragged his tongue along the length of her. Material alone couldn't disguise the heat or the heady scent of her. Harley gasped, the muscles in her leg going taunt but not trying to get away.

"This is how you're going to say you're sorry?" It was a valiant effort to exert any control of a situation in which she had none.

He rewarded her attempt by scraping his teeth harder than necessary across her skin. Even buffered by the underwear she could feel it. Technique and warning at the same time.

He'd known all along he'd enjoy this particular type of revenge but maybe he hadn't realised how much. He could taste just enough of her that he craved more, her breathy moans could so quickly be transformed into cries and screams. He might get too close to the edge and, instead of stopping, topple over with her. Joker would happily recommend mixing business with pleasure but only if you didn't lose sight of the business aspect.

Harley was no longer trying to escape although her body had wound so tight it was like she'd been struck by lightening. If Joker was any closer to her, he'd be inside her. His tongue traced her in teasing patterns until he found the ones that made her tense and groan. Then he increased the pressure, mouth closing over her like he was going to eat her alive and stop her heart in the process.

Harley's legs were over his shoulders now, all pretenses of resistance gone now.

It wouldn't take long now. The tongue had found her clit. If he used his fingers, it would be over in seconds but that felt too much like gateway foreplay. Stick one thing in, wasn't long before you stuck something else in. And that second something was already ready to go. He settled for digging his fingers into her thighs so hard it had to hurt but Harley seemed to like the edge of pain.

Her legs were starting to shake and despite himself he grinned against the lace. All her clever attempts to keep him at arms length, to control him, were coming apart at the seams.

His smirk was stolen by the sensation of her fingers raking through his hair. She pulled him even closer, lost in the mindless sparking of an impending orgasm. Her hands wound there, pulling on his hair hard enough to sting. He shocked himself by moaning against her molten skin and biting her again, lace catching between his metal teeth.

It was the final act that made her cry out and sent spasms down her body. Harley collapsed back into the chair, both of them breathing hard. To calm himself, Joker lazily licked at the inside of her thigh, before leaning against her - his head practically resting in her lap. Harley's head fell back and her eyes closed once more.

Her fingers were still tangled in his green hair.

 **AN:** Hi all, oh boy was that a tough one to write. Getting the Joker's voice throughout without becoming far too crude or cringey was a freakin' hard balance to strike. So please review! Review twice if you can.

Also, I am obsessed with soundtracking my writing sessions and have a unique soundtrack for every story I work on. I think I'll start including small snippets from songs that I think are particularly appropriate for the relationship between Harley and Joker. This one was from Tear Me Down by Paul Rey.


	22. Chapter 22

Harley stayed in the chair until her breathing returned to normal though her blood still felt like fire in her veins. Joker purred like a cat against her thigh, his fingers still digging into her skin as he held onto her.

What had she done? What had she let him do?

Her brain screamed at her for making such a terrible mistake but her body refused to ignore the centre of logic. She held no tension in her body, practically floating in place. His hair was threaded through her fingers still. It was softer than expected despite the harsh chemicals that turned it green.

From her vantage point, she could see the beginnings of brown roots. It reminded her that despite his persona and despite the fractured mess of his mind, he was a human. It was easy to forget.

It was getting late and the longer they stayed like this, the more chance they had of being discovered. It would be quite a scene.

Harley reluctantly shifted in the chair, finally disturbing the peaceful calm that had settled over Joker. He rose to his feet gracefully and bonelessly, his eyes inscrutable.

When he extended a hand to held Harley to her feet all she could do was blink at it. It was a foreign gesture of chivalry.

Harley tentatively took it, half expecting to lash out at her. His palm was warm against hers as he pulled her to her feet.

Her legs shook underneath her, unsteady on the heels. A step forward revealed that maybe she had stood too soon.

Joker caught her as she stumbled, arms wrapping around her waist to keep her upright and taking her weight. Her fingers curled in to the bland blue of his asylum issue shirt. Absurdly she wished he was wearing one of his ostentatious shirts, tailored with precision to fit the lean lines of his body.

He was tall too, even in her high heels he hovered over her. He wasn't speaking and neither was she, but she could feel his heart under her hand. Harley's ears were ringing even in the silence.

They were too close, the smart thing to do was to step away and maybe say something insulting. Anything to crack the tension that continued to build.

She did neither of those things and he didn't either.

Harley looked up at him and he looked down at her. So close. Too close!

Later she would tell herself it was an accident - that she took too deep a breath, that he stooped to better support her trembling body.

Her lips brushed his lightly. Her lungs constricted in her chest until breathing hurt.

Joker's arms tensed around her body but he didn't jerk away from her. Instead he ghosted his own mouth across hers in delicate response.

She'd never felt him so still or so gentle. It was like two different people stood in this room now.

He'd just gone down on her but Harley knew deep down that if he kissed her right now, she would be lost.

She met him half way and sighed against the press of his lips.

It was almost chaste, their hands stayed in the same spot like they were frozen in time. If he deepened the kiss, maybe she would taste herself on his tongue, but he didn't. He kissed her with no aggression, as if he was unsure of himself in this moment.

It couldn't last forever and Harley eventually pulled back, head swimming. With enormous effort, she pried her fingers out of his shirt releasing him. They still hadn't spoken. Her skin was too tight for her body.

She straightened her skirt and that seemed to break the spell. Joker shook his head as if trying to clear a fog. His face still told her nothing. If only he would crack a joke, she could push him back, push him out. She pressed the button on her desk to summon the guards to collect him.

Harley supposed she should be relieved he wasn't wearing his preferred red lipstick or her indiscretions would be splayed across her body.

She brushed the back of her hand up to her cheek. Heat sat in her skin, still flushed from what he'd done.

But she'd let him. He had given her a choice which was the worst thing that he could have done. There was no hiding behind anything now.

He was back in his hand restraints by the time the guards came and Harley was glad at least one of them had the presence of mind to remember that he was a prisoner. She certainly hadn't thought to put them back on. She was too afraid to touch him.

Joker cracked a smile when the men came and the reality of her choice hit her like a punch in the stomach.

"Lovely night as always, Doctor."

He was nothing but polite so why did Harley feel like screaming at him? Maybe he could tell she was breaking apart inside because his grin got wider. It would be too much to think he experienced any guilt for his actions so the best she could hope for was discretion.

And given he licked his lips suggestively as soon as the guards weren't looking, that was clearly too much as well.

Harley glared at him and ignored that his smirk tightened things low in her body. She'd been trying to get him out of her system and now she'd gone and made it ten times worse. She'd had a taste test and her imagination started supplying more sordid details. If he had pressed his advantage earlier, she would have let him do whatever he wanted to her.

Joker had stopped because he wanted her to know he _could_ stop, that he was in control. As soon as he was gone, Harley swore and rubbed her face. Nothing with him was the way it seemed. Oral sex was just a chess move to him.

A traitorous part of her asked about the kiss. That hadn't been premeditated. And his face had revealed he was as uncertain about it as she was. Neither of them knew what it meant.

...

"Why do I get the sense that the bag has a face?"

Harley lay off the punching bag to look at Hamia who had her arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.

"Doesn't it always?" Harley asked and tightened the straps on her wrist. She didn't want to admit that it had the face of a serial killer who was currently roaming the streets of Gotham and possibly looking for her.

Hamia shrugged a shoulder. "Not always."

"If you weren't the teacher I'd give you shit about the vague Yoda act you pull."

"I wasn't aware I did that," Hamia countered, with a tone that said full well she did know.

Harley shook her head but smiled. After a few weeks of lessons, she'd grown to respect and like Hamia. She also liked that she was a world away from her normal life.

"Your right hook is starting to look pretty good."

Harley snorted. "Thanks."

That _was_ a compliment considering where she'd started from. Hamia had a high standard but she was amazingly patient. She also had the uncanny knack for being whatever the student needed in a teacher - positive motivator or tough love. She often gave Harley tough love.

Harley's shoulders ached and as she looked around the room, she saw that most of the students had filed out.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you," Harley apologised as she massaged her knuckles.

"That's alright. I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead," Harley prompted and reached for her water bottle.

"I wanted to see if you wanted to grab a drink?"

"As in a date?"

"No, as a friend." Hamia raised an eyebrow and Harley blushed.

"I'm so sorry, I just assumed." Harley rushed to explain. "That was vain of me. I don't even know if you're interested in women."

"I do like women."

"Me too! Like women I mean. and men. Bisexual." Harley pointed at herself and trailed off, feeling enormously silly .

"I don't date my students," Hamia explained with a twinkle in her eye. "Besides, I assumed you were involved with someone?"

Harley didn't know how to answer that. What exactly was she? It didn't have a label but she knew she wasn't available.

"It's complicated," she finished awkwardly. Her discomfort clearly amused Hamia who was starting to smile.

"How about a friendly drink then?"

That startled Harley more than being asked out would have. She didn't really have friends. There was so much in her life she couldn't talk about but as she stood there, she realised she desperately wanted something normal.

"Oh I could definitely use one of those."

"C'mon then, I'll buy you a beer."

...

"So you want to tell me about complicated?"

Harley paused with the bottle to her lips. "Not really," she mumbled, before taking a swig and trying not to wince. She didn't love beer but Hamia was buying and Harley was grateful for the opportunity to hang out with someone who wasn't neck deep in the complications of her life.

"They responsible for these?" Hamia gestured at Harley's arms with her pinky finger.

"Why does everyone think that?" Harley asked, thinking of her mother's question.

"I tend to mind my own business, everyone's got a reason to be in the class, but someone cut you up good. And recently too."

"For someone who minds their own business, you've been paying close attention." Harley tried to make it sound like a joke.

Hamia didn't laugh. "You make sure you leave class before dark and the nights you don't, you get picked up by a car service. Same driver every time. That's the behaviour of someone who is afraid."

Throat tight, Harley took another sip, less for the taste and more in the hopes the alcohol would make this easier.

"I'm a good set of ears," Hamia said gently.

Releasing a sharp exhale, Harley picked at the label. "Complicated isn't responsible for the scars."

"And the person who is?"

Harley shrugged. The edges of her mouth were weak so she bit the inside of her cheek. She barely knew this woman, she would sooner set herself on fire than cry in front of her. "Who knows. He's somewhere in Gotham probably."

"And he's why you joined the class?"

It wasn't until Hamia said it that Harley acknowledged it was true. With Graham unaccounted for, she didn't feel safe. Joker's promise to kill him eased some of the fear but there was only so much he could do from jail.

"I want to stand a better chance next time."

"What makes you think there will be next time?" Hamia's kind, steady questions reminded Harley a little bit of therapy, which was funny considering she was the psychiatrist at the table.

"Isn't there always a next time?"

"Not always."

The women sat there in a comfortable silence for a few more minutes before Hamia shifted the conversation to the topic of music.

Would she have said as much about her fear to Jonathon or Joker? She had a feeling both of them already knew which was no end of frustrating.

When they left the small bar, it was dark. It closed in around Harley like ropes even though there were still plenty of people out and about.

"I just live around the corner," Harley said, wishing she had a coat to wrap around her body. It was ludicrous to call the car for such a small distance.

"I'll walk you."

Harley search Hamia's face for an ulterior motive or for pity. She found neither.

"You really don't have to."

"I haven't reached my step target today," Hamia tapped her wrist where a small smart watch sat against her skin. Harley laughed at the obvious lie which allowed her to accept Hamia's help and save her pride.

"Then by all means."

While they walked, Hamia kept up a low hum of conversation and Harley's eyes swept every shadow and every corner searching for Graham's face. Hamia sensed that Harley couldn't really pay attention to her talking but spoke anyway as if to remind her she wasn't alone.

Despite Harley's agitated vigilance, Hamia was the first person to sense the threat. Harley didn't see their face, just the knife.

"Give me your money," the voice growled and Harley froze. It was too dark to see properly and a hood covered their face and their eyes. What if they were dead eyes? Graham's shark eyes?

"We don't want any trouble," Hamia said in a steely, even voice as she handed over the small wad of cash she carried on her. Harley still hadn't moved, every muscle in her body had turned to stone as her brain ran in circles - _not his voice, not his hands, not his knife._ These facts did nothing to combat the blast of adrenaline running through her system.

"Now you," the mugger turned his knife on Harley.

"Harley, give him what you have," Hamia prompted in a low voice.

Harley had no cash on her, she wanted to explain that or to turn out her pockets but she was stuck. Maybe Hamia realised the cause of her silence but the mugger didn't and he was already jerking with nerves.

Nerves made people do stupid things.

"I don't have time for this," he snapped, stepping forward. Maybe he just meant to scare her because he looked just as surprised as Hamia when Harley gasped and threw up her arms to protect herself. She just couldn't see past the weapon to the person.

The knife cut into the skin of her arm, deep enough to bleed. Hamia saw the blood and sprung into action, shoving the mugger backwards. His hood fell backwards, revealing a man barely into his twenties. Not Graham.

Harley could suddenly breath and every inhale tainted with anger. The mugger had made a token effort of resisting Hamia's hard shove but he'd let the knife fall to his side.

Hamia had him well in hand but that fury had filled her lungs and rushed into her fingertips. When he tried to duck around Hamia, Harley punched him hard.

She slugged him across the jaw with a force that split the skin across her knuckles and sent him reeling to the ground. Hamia's eyes widened in shock.

Harley drove her foot into his stomach hard. "You little motherfucker. Do you even know what you're messing with?"

Maybe she would have kicked him again but Hamia's arm wound around her waist and pulled her tight against her body. Hamia was strong, stronger than Harley. "Stop, Harleen, he's not going to hurt us."

The mugger spat blood on the ground before pulling himself slowly to his feet. Harley wasn't sure if it was the punch or the kick that had done the most damage.

"Leave the knife," she growled and even though Hamia had her restrained, the mugger saw something in her eyes that made him do as she commanded.

"Crazy bitch," he mumbled but he made the right decision and chose to run.

The two women stood still even as he disappeared into the night.

"You couldn't have asked him to leave my money?" Hamia asked dryly.

"Sorry."

"I teach people to keep their head in a fight and do the _smart_ thing," Hamia scolded, finally releasing Harley.

"He deserved it."

"Of course," Hamia agreed bluntly, checking Harley's arm and knuckles. She tutted. "But that isn't the point."

Harley pressed her free palm to her heart, letting the pulse rattle against her skin.

"I'm sorry," she conceded in a hoarse whisper.

"I'll walk you home," Hamia said, back to a neutral voice but she regarded Harley with a new consideration.

The security on shift took one look at her and freaked out. He had to be talked out of sounding the alarm. Harley really wasn't in the mood for Gordon arriving on her doorstep and the way the guard was acting, she half expected him to deploy the bat signal.

The idea of the batman checking under her bed for threats brought a smile to her face. The grin seemed to unnerve the guard but Hamia looked reassured.

"You should talk to someone," Hamia suggested, when they managed to escape the fussing and get to the elevator.

"Maybe."

Hamia lifted her eyebrows, already aware that Harley would do no such thing. "Look after yourself."

Harley made her way up to the apartment where she stood in silence for a minute before walking through and turning on all the lights. Then she set about cleaning the cut. It was shallow, made by accident rather than maliciousness. It probably wouldn't even scar.

She winced when she saw her knuckles though. Hamia always warned them that a punch done wrong could cause more damage to the one throwing it than the one getting it. Flinching, she flexed her fingers - nothing seemed to be broken but the hand was darkening and swelling.

The sensible thing would be to ice it and go to bed. Instead Harley closed her eyes briefly then folded herself in half, palms pressing hard into the floor.

She slowly shifted the weight onto her hands, fissures of pain shooting up her arms. Shoulders tensing, she lifted her legs into the air. She balanced there, letting the blood rush to her head.

...

Joker's eyes shot quickly to the camera to make sure this session wasn't one that was being filmed before grabbing Harley's hand and holding it up to the light.

Harley's sentence trailed off mid word and she almost flinched out of his hold.

"What have you been up to, Princess?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." She refused to meet his stare. Her hand was a mess; swollen and bruised. He'd spotted it the second she'd walked in the door.

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "A few bruises and I might believe you're clumsy. Or a drunk."

Harley's mouth popped open, maybe to protest but he barreled on talking.

"But you only get split knuckles like this when you've been in a fight."

She went abnormally still.

"So who have you been fighting, Harley?" He traced a light finger tip across the bruised skin.

She snatched her hand back and dropped it under the table out of sight. "We're here to talk about you," she chided in a last ditch attempt to change the subject but he was too curious. She had no other injuries - he'd checked - which meant she hadn't been on the receiving end of the blows.

Joker shifted in his chair and pouted. "But I _like_ talking about you. I want to hear your opinions, your hopes, your dreams. Who you've been hitting."

Rolling eyes didn't disguise the fact that she blushed. "You can't possibly find me that interesting."

This was easier than shooting fish in a barrel. He fixed her with his stare. "Endlessly fascinating."

He wasn't even lying to her but he knew just hearing those words out loud was like crack for her. He knew first hand the woman across from him was complex, interesting and dangerously smart for the game he was trying to play with her. Fuck knows what had happened to her in her career that she was so starved for approval that she'd take it from him but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Someone tried to mug me last night. So I hit him. And then kicked him."

Joker threw his hands up in the air, "Why do you look so sad then? That's a great story! He deserved it. Tell me, did you make him bleed?"

"The problem is, I froze."

"Because you made him bleed?"

Harley bit her lip at his obvious interest in the blood and tried not to smile. "No, before that. I saw the knife-"

"He had a knife?"

"-and I couldn't stop thinking that Graham was back and that he was going to hurt me again." She eased a fingertip along the scar of her forearm. She seemed to curl in on herself just hearing Graham's name. Even with all the time passed, with him running loose, she still feared him.

It was agitating. Not least because that madman was out and about killing people but this madman was sitting inside a cell, talking about _feelings_ , and decidedly not killing anyone. He stamped down on his irritation because as much as this Graham character pissed him off, her fear was another opportunity.

"I promised to kill him didn't I?" His hand closed over her forearm, covering the scar from both of them.

"Yes, but you're kind of otherwise engaged."

"Ha! You're funny, Princess. But if you do just one thing for me, I could deliver on that promise."

Harley tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear and her eyes went stormy. He'd have to step carefully, oh so carefully. One wrong move and this whole manipulation would come crashing down around his ears. He could tell by her shadowing expression that she was suspicious.

"Get me a cell phone."

"What!" she spluttered.

He poked his tongue out at her offense - like she hadn't been slipping him food and booze, and his tongue between her thighs.

"I'll get fired for that and lose my license."

"That could happen for any number of the things you've done," he pointed out sagely. "Remember when you threw yourself at me right here in this very room?" He grinned widely, teeth shining in the fluorescent lighting.

Harley bristled. "I remember you being all over me not that long ago," she fired back.

"I remember you coming."

For a sophisticated, worldly woman Harley blushed the most vivid shade of red. He'd managed to neatly unsettle her and it was time to move in for the kill.

"It's a matter of trust. I trust you, you trust me."

She blinked at him and he waited, rolling his shoulders with restless energy.

"How does a cell phone help?"

"I can have people out scouring for Graham. A thousand little rats, scurrying down a thousand little holes. We'll find him."

"And then?"

"I'll have him killed," he said simply. No point pretending otherwise. After all, that's what she wanted from him. "This is my city, not his. He's stolen my audience."

She sucked in a sharp breath. He nearly had her.

"I'm not an idiot, Puddin'. I know you already have ways of exerting influence outside the asylum."

He pointed at himself in surprise. "Why would you think that?"

Harley shot him a withering stare before leaning across the table and combing her fingers through his green hair. They caught in tangles and tugged his scalp. It took all his self control not to groan.

"I don't know if you're entirely human but I know your hair doesn't grow green."

"First of all, I'm very flattered. Second, I'm not denying I can pull some strings-"

Harley arched her eyebrow at him from across the table.

"But I don't have the ability to check in at all hours. Hard to run an empire like that."

"And that's how the cell with help?"

"I'll have my people on it twenty-four seven." He drew an x across his heart and then a line across his throat for good measure.

Harley tilted her head and he saw the beginnings of a smile.

"How about it, Harls? Wanna be bad and help me murder a murderer?"

...

Harley didn't know what made her feel more like she'd been hit by a truck; gymnastics of self defence with Hamia. Tonight she'd spent some time rediscovering the uneven bars. Time had eroded her skills but she still managed a basic routine and only fell half a dozen times. She'd forgotten how good it felt to fly.

It was also nice to do something different than Krav Maga. After the mugging, Hamia had been working her relentlessly, teaching her quick reactions and control. They'd gone for another beer and Hamia had talked her about music and books and awkward first kisses. All the things normal people talked about.

Gymnastics was simple in comparison. Just her and her body. Harley could have taken a night off but then she'd have to see Jonathon or sit at home and think about the small cell phone she'd slipped the Joker. She wasn't ready for either of those things.

It was a low tech thing, barely good for more than sending text messages. But the very fact she gave it to him ate her up. Would they connect it to her? It was well known that he had his own means of doing stuff like that, but if her involvement became known she was screwed.

Harley showered quickly before digging last nights take-out from the fridge. She'd just taken sunk into the couch and taken a mouthful when her phone buzzed. she winced, expecting it to be Jonathon asking how she was.

He was just so damn considerate. He'd paid for lighting timers to be installed throughout her apartment, using his mysterious income, so it never looked like her apartment was empty or unoccupied. It was an objectively sweet gesture and Harley was still struggling to reconcile sweet with Jonathon Crane.

Chewing she reached for the phone and opened the text.

 _-What are you wearing?_

Her forehead lined. The number was unknown. Someone was clearly trolling her. She was about to throw the phone back onto the coffee table when it buzzed again.

 _-God it's so boring in this place, how do you stand to work here, princess?_

Harley sat bolt right up, realising suddenly who was on the other end of the phone.

 _\- You look sexy with that expression on your face! Hahahaha_

Harley couldn't help but look over her shoulder just to check he wasn't standing there, laughing at her.

 _\- Just joking. But does it make you all warm and tingly that I know you that well?_

Finally getting a hold of herself, Harley typed a response with shaking hands.

 _\- You are not supposed to be texting me!_

The reply came instantly.

 _\- But I wanted to._

The message came complete with a number of emoticons that seemed to have been chosen at random. A grinning devil, a snowman, a clown, and an eggplant. Harley clenched her jaw when she saw the last one. How was he so unique in some ways and yet exactly like all men in others?

 _\- How did you get this number?_

 _\- Ugh. So many questions! I thought you'd be happy to hear from me. #SadClown_

 _\- And I thought you'd know I didn't want to go to jail for giving you a phone. #Harleywantstokeepherjob_

 _\- Do you even hashtag? I know you're older than me but jeez you don't need to text like it._

Harley stared at the phone incredulously and wondered what the reaction would be if she went all the way back into Arkham and slapped him. The weirdo would probably enjoy it.

 _\- You take sooo long to write back 2!_

 _\- I'm sorry, I was just thinking about hurting you._

 _\- Kinky ;)_

Harley snorted. Scolding Joker was like scolding a cat. It did not give a damn and would likely carry on doing whatever it pleased.

Switching tact she text back: _What are_ you _wearing?_

 _\- Arkham issued inmate wear. V. fashionable at the Milan shows this year. You never answered me._

Harley took a whole of 5 seconds to consider whether she was making a smart decision. She wasn't but she smirked and replied.

\- _nothing_.

She regretted it instantly but part of her wished she could witness his reaction to that.

\- _tease._

\- _Sorry I suppose._

\- _Don't be sorry. If I wasn't stuck in this hell hole I'd be naked at least 90% of the time._

A crooked grin crossed Harley's face and warmth uncurled in her stomach at the thought. Despite their intimate acts, she hadn't seen him naked and he hadn't seen her. She wondered what it would be like. What illustrations hadn't she seen yet? Was all that violence and danger evident in the skin of his body?

Her phone buzzed.

\- _stop thinking about me naked._

Harley tapped a nail against the case of her phone and wondered not for the first time if he could read her mind.

\- _I was actually thinking about your tattoos._

\- _Don't ruin this with questions, Harls. "Where did you come from? Why do you kill people? What star sign are you?" Blah Blah Blah. Boring!_

\- _I was going to ask if you had any of those tattoos before?_

Harley deliberately ignored his request for no more questions but settled on a hopefully innocent one.

\- _One._

Harley waited for a follow up to that enigmatic response but realised she wasn't going to get one when her phone remained silent. He could have fallen asleep or he could be ignoring her. She didn't find it as easy to read him as he read her. She tried for one more question.

\- _what do you miss most now you're in Arkham?_

\- _good food? Sex? Fast cars? Pick one._

\- _i'm serious!_

\- _Me too. Hahahaha_.

Harley got three more texts and they contained nothing but _hahahaha_ over and over again. Her food sat forgotten on the table. She searched the texts for any real content but there was nothing but manic laughter in letter format. It was frustrating - she got so close to this person but the madness always stopped her from knowing him properly. She knew it was a integral part of him but it didn't make it less infuriating when all she wanted was to crack open his head and riffle through his thoughts.

\- _Whatever. I'm going to sleep._

He took so long to write back that she thought he was done playing for the evening but as she crawled into bed, she saw she had one unread text. Half dreading his new response, Harley pressed it open.

\- _the stars._

 **AN: Please review!**


	23. Chapter 23

Harley decided to run back from the gym this morning. The sun was just creaking across the city horizon and her arms and shoulders ached from training. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair stuck to the back of her neck but she was oddly content.

She'd been sleeping better recently. She figured it had something to do with the fact that when nightmares struck, all she had to do was reach for her phone.

Joker kept worse hours than she did and seemed to be awake no matter when she text. She never told him that it was her fears that had her reaching out to him at one am. She knew she didn't have too.

Harley wondered what kept him awake?

She smiled at the guard as she crossed the lobby and stepped into the elevator. She had what her mother would call a spring in her step. And maybe it was testing fate but she was as happy, by her standards, as she'd ever been.

She spent her evenings learning to defend herself with Hamia and then, more often than not, hanging out with her in a dive bar afterwards. Her mornings were spent relearning why she had loved gymnastics in the first place before competition had soured it. She didn't wince anymore at the sight of the scars criss-crossing her body when she saw herself naked. And she had as much control over Joker as any mere mortal could be expected to have.

Harley was still a realist though - despite the warmth in her chest and the smile on her face, things weren't perfect. She had only seen Jonathon a handful of times since he'd moved back to his own apartment and she wasn't sure how things stood. They were both as responsible as the other for the lack of contact. The brief dabbling in domesticity had been pleasant but it had made them both skittish. It hadn't just been nice, it had been easy to fit him into her life.

It had been... almost normal. Something neither one of them had ever claimed to want. She'd honestly expected Jonathon to run half way across the world to escape it but he'd only gone across the city.

And Harley didn't hate having him close. Which was as far as her self-awareness went. She really didn't want to overthink her happiness that he'd stayed in Gotham. Just as she didn't want to overthink the fact his texts didn't make her stomach clench the way Joker's did.

As if summoned, her phone buzzed in her hand. She grinned despite herself, before even checking the screen for the sender. Somehow she always knew when it was him.

Harley dialed down her music and opened the message.

- _Morning Princess! Have fun at the gym?_

Harley didn't bother to question how he knew where she'd been. It was like he was as in tune to her as she was to him. It made the back of her neck prickle as if under the weight of his stare.

\- _I happen to know you're at breakfast right now, how are you texting me?_

\- _Magic. People see what they want to see, Harls._

\- _And what are people seeing right now?_

\- _Sandra fling porridge at the guards._

Harley snorted and lifted her eyebrows. She could imagine the scene. Sandra was a mild-mannered patient until her routine was broken. And since Thursdays were normally eggs and bacon for breakfast, Harley was sure she wasn't at all happy

\- _I'm glad you were able to take advantage of the opportunity._

\- _I mean, I threw the first bowl but that was before the guards were paying attention. HAHAHAHAHA. *Clown emoji*_

Harley shook her head and made her way towards the bathroom for a shower. Another message came through as she peeled her shirt off. She grimaced as the damp garment clung to her skin and checked what else he had to say.

\- _Am I seeing you today? I'm getting bored in art therapy._

She bit down on the side of her lip to stop herself grinning. He wanted to see her.

\- _you'd prefer having me poke around in your head_?

\- _YES! And maybe one day you'll let me poke around in you more generally_.

\- _You're a menace!_

\- _Well duh Harley, I've been confined to an institution! Doesn't answer my question._

Harley sucked in a weak breath. She hadn't actually planned any treatment for him today. She was trying to figure out how long she could go without seeing him, weaning herself off her dependency. It was hard as fuck.

\- _I could probably fit you if you're that desperate to see me._

She rubbed at her face as a minute stretched into two without a reply. Maybe that message was too far.

Her phone buzzed twice in quick succession. Two messages.

\- _You have no idea._

\- _Try not to think about me in the shower ;-)_

There was a zero sum chance that was going to happen after that comment. She could clearly picture his face as he'd sent that to her. Mischievous with heated eyes. It sent a shiver straight down her spine.

\- _I never do_ , she sent back even as her fingertips ran down her body.

...

Joker tried to judge Harley's mood from the soft tilt of her mouth and the rosy glow of her cheeks. That phone had been a stroke of genius. He'd sent a total of three messages to Frost since she'd slipped it to him, the rest had been to her and the pay off was right in front of his eyes. True to his word, those texts to Frost had been about that upstaging, piece of shit Graham. Frost had turned his attention to the task with the diligence he approached all his leader's orders, with neutral obedience and efficiency.

Sometimes Joker considered for funsies what it would take to get an actual reaction out of Frost and if he wasn't so god damned valuable and heterosexual, maybe he would have tried seducing one out of him. His assistant was handsome enough in suit-wearing, clean-cut American kind of way. However, Joker suspected that if anyone was going to be immune to his charisma, it would be Frost.

There was a problem though - after Harley, the bar had been set pretty fucking high as to what he now considered interesting in a person. She had captured his attention almost as well as Batman did. Her conversion and subsequent destruction had become an obsession for him. Why else was he still in this shitty asylum?

But hadn't his patience been worth it? Her words were professional, her tone as condescending as ever, but she looked up at him through those long dark lashes and her blue eyes glittered. She was flirting with him, coy as a school girl. Maybe she didn't even know she was doing it but he'd made a study of her behaviour and he had seen the change.

Of course he'd been flirting outrageously with her too via those messages. He lived for that manic thrill when he sent her something he knew was pushing the line and waited through those few silent minutes to see if she was eventually going to put her foot down. She always responded. Sometimes she told him he was depraved and disgusting, sometimes she mocked him, sometimes she sent him a suggestive quip, graphic enough to make his blood hot.

But she always, _always_ replied to him.

He'd been keeping his hands to himself too. It was to exacerbate the frustration that was for certain brewing inside her - he wanted their next physical encounter to be driven completely by her.

And he didn't want to start something that he wasn't absolutely sure he could control. And after that unplanned kiss, he was a little bit rattled on that front. His brain had screamed at him to shove her away from him but she inhaled and he came tumbling into her orbit.

The pureness of it almost made him retch. The wasted opportunity made him angry. Now there was this moment between them that was neither his machinations or Harley's devolving self-destructive behaviour. It just was.

Joker focused back in on what the good doctor was saying as she wrapped up their session. She'd brought him a small gift - a rubik's cube to pass the time.

"No throwing knives?" He pouted at her across the table. When he'd first become her patient, she would have rolled her eyes at the pout. Actually she wouldn't have bought him shit in the first place.

"You haven't been that good," she told him witheringly, but that lingering smile underlined her words.

He cut his eyes to the camera. No red light today but she'd left the wrist restraints on and attached to the table. A show of power - she'd clearly not dispensed with all of their little games.

Joker tossed the brightly coloured cube from hand to hand and tracked the movements with his eyes.

"This was really thoughtful of you, Doc. Thanks."

"You really like it?" She raised an eyebrow and her breath hitched subtly.

"Love it!"

"It's supposed to improve your critical thinking and hand eye coordination skills."

"Princess, my hand eye coordination is nothing short of heart stopping." He leaned on his elbows and silently dared her to come closer.

Maybe she was smarter than usual or not interested in playing because she sat back in her chair with a inscrutable expression.

"You think pretty highly of yourself, don't you?"

"You don't get where I am without a bit of ego, Harls." He laced his fingers on the table, grinning hand right side up. That was the tattoo he'd alluded to on their first night of messaging. It was there from when his memories began. Whether he'd gotten it or someone else had done it to him, he'd never know. Never wanted to know.

"Incarcerated?"

So she was feeling playful after all, just antagonistic rather than flirtatious. That was fine by him. He liked her with teeth. It just made it harder to keep his hands to himself when she was like this. He wondered how she'd react with one of his hands around her throat and the other up her skirt?

He opened his mouth to respond when sirens sounded throughout Arkham. It was loud enough that he winced and Harley started.

A flashing red light began spiraling overhead. A static voice crackled over the speakers and there was a loud clank as the door's crisis lock tumbled into place.

"Emergency. Emergency. This is not a drill. Lock down proc-"

The words were cut off mid sentence and the siren came to an abrupt halt. The main fluorescent bulb shut down and the sickly back-up lighting filtered down. The red light overhead spun around turning Harley's face into stark contrasts.

The doors lock disengaged again.

Harley whirled in her chair to face him. "Was this you?" she demanded.

Joker looked at her in shock. He had no idea what was happening. Gunfire echoed in the halls and Harley jerked to her feet. He followed suit, the restraints catching against the table. He cursed.

"This is not me, Harls."

She crept closer to the door. There were more gun shots.

He couldn't believe it. He would bet good money there was an escape plan in progress and he wasn't even fucking behind it.

He burst into loud laughter, head dropping backwards. The most dangerous criminal in Gotham he was being sidelined. Harley glared at him from across the room.

The silence was eerie now, made worse by that red light that hurt his eyes.

"We should make a run for it," Harley mused, talking mostly to herself. He could see her hands were trembling even in the dark.

"Isn't lock down the procedure?"

He felt oddly calm considering there were people in the asylum with guns. Harley shot him another look that could have melted flesh from bones.

"Only when the locks are working," she hissed at him. As if to prove her point, she cracked the door open an inch.

Faster than he could think, the door was wrenched from her hands, swinging wide open. Harley disappeared from the doorway like she had teleported. There was a scream and a gun shot.

Joker yanked at his restraints. "Harley!" he shouted. There was a crash and another crack of gun fire that left his ears ringing. He planted a foot on the table and tried to rip the restraints out of the metal loop. It tore the skin on his wrists but held steady. There was a grunt and gasp of pain. Something tumbled into the other side of the wall.

"Harley," he called again. "God damn it, answer!"

The doctor stumbled backwards into the room, followed by a man that had a good foot on her and pounds of extra muscle. At some point the gun had been dropped but it did nothing to reassure Joker.

The man was dressed in all black and had a knife in his hand that Harley was barely keeping clear of her stomach.

"Pick on someone your own size!" Joker roared and kicked at the table. It attracted the mercenary's attention for a split second.

It was enough of a distraction that Harley could force the knife to the side of her and drive her knee into her assailant's groin. His knees buckled but he managed to slap Harley as fell.

Slaps got a lot of scorn as being a bitch move but one that hard, with that much brute strength behind it was going to do some damage. Harley collapsed onto her side.

The attacker was momentarily consumed by his own pain and Joker shouting at him.

"You touch her again and I'm going to rip your insides out and _eat them_!"

That threat got him a knife pointed in his direction.

"I'm going to kill you when I'm finished with her," the man panted. His accent was not American but Joker couldn't place it.

It was as if his anger was large enough to bring down an entire building but not powerful enough to get him out of his restraints. Joker could barely think straight as his rage overtook any reason.

"Get up, Princess. Get up!" he barked at Harley who was slowly getting to her hands and knees. He was surprised she was still alive.

She groaned but got her feet under her before the attacker could, still grabbing his bruised crotch. Her blond hair was a tangled mess around her shoulders and her nose was bloody.

"I'm going to gut you for that," the mercenary mumbled, pushing to his feet, not at all afraid of the blond woman fighting him off. He brandished the knife at her again and Harley snapped.

The sight of the blade made something flash in her eyes and Joker knew that she was no longer seeing the situation as it was. Graham was now in the room with her.

Seizing that pain of hers, Joker called to her. "Make him hurt like he hurt you."

"Shut up," the man growled at him but he'd already made his mistake.

He made to swipe at Harley but she darted around him with frightening speed and then she was kicking him in the face with an efficiency she shouldn't have. Joker was starting to join the dots - her bruises, her toned biceps. Harley had been using her free time to learn how to defend herself.

The man clearly hadn't expected that kind of an assault and rocked on his feet. He swung forward and caught her in the ribs. if he had been steady, maybe that blow would have floored her again but Harley blocked the worst of it. She cried out in pain but gave him no quarter and swept his legs out from under him with precision.

The knife clattered out of his hand and spiraled across the floor. Harley wiped some blood away with the back of her hand before seizing the chair she'd been sitting in just moments ago and bringing it down hard on the man's face.

His own nose mashed under the force of the strike and he slumped into unconsciousness. Harley staggered backwards and the air went out of her, her cheeks were pale. The wall hit her back and she slid down. Her eyes fluttered closed. There was still gunfire further into the asylum and unless he was mistaken, it was heading in their direction.

"Harley!" he snapped at her. Her eyelids opened lazily, and she fixed him with an unfocused glare.

"Stop shouting at me."

"The hell I will. Get up!"

"So bossy," she slurred. She'd taken a hard hit to the head, that was obvious.

"I said get up, you disobedient bitch," he snarled, hoping he could share his anger with her and light that fire in her chest. She needed to stand up.

It worked. With a hiss, she clawed her way into a standing position and limped to his side.

She punched him hard across the face.

He hadn't expected that and his cheek throbbed. She leaned into him, fingers curling into his shirt to keep herself upright. Or maybe to make sure he was paying attention.

"Don't. call. me. a. bitch." she bit out with kinetic rage.

Her teeth and lips were bloody and she had just socked him in the face but he would have quite gladly hoisted her on to the table and fucked her right here and now. Even with the impending danger. Because of the impending danger. He was messed up.

He really wanted to see what she'd do if he called her a bitch one more time. But he kept himself in check. "Whatever you say, Princess."

Harley blew out a breath and her head tilted forward, coming to rest against his chest. She was hurt. She was always getting hurt by people that weren't him.

With her forehead still pressed against him, right over his heart, she fumbled in her pocket before pressing something into his hand. Her fingers lingered, curled in his for a second. It was the key for the metal bar in the table. His wrists would still be bound but at least he could move and run. He could fight.

Joker floundered with the lock, head bowed over Harley's, green hair tumbling forward to frame both of their faces. He wasn't willing to move her so that he could see better. He wasn't sure she could stand without his support.

He got himself free and propelled her towards the door. "We gotta go."

They entered the hall and men shouted at them. They were dressed the same way as the man in the therapy room, who may or may not actually be dead.

Harley slipped and fell to the ground. A soundless gasp escaped her. There were four of them and they had guns. Harley was trying to stand but didn't even have the strength to sit up.

Joker was frozen in spot.

"We just want the staff. You can leave with the other patients," one of them called, guns held aloft.

This escape was planned chaos.

A hand pressed on his ankle and he cut his gaze down to Harley. She met his eyes with surprising lucidity.

"Run," she rasped.

"You can't run," he mumbled back to her.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Leave me and run. You can get out."

Joker weighed up his options with lightening speed. Maybe before Arkham he could have carried her and still outrun these men but he'd let himself get complacent in here. She'd given him permission to escape all while keeping that connection they'd built between them. But it would be worth nothing because she'd be dead. These men were going to put a bullet in her head, which didn't seem fair considering how desperately she'd fought the first mercenary.

Joker blew out a sigh and stepped over Harley's prone body so he was between her and the men.

"No can do, sorry fellas. You can go around the other way."

"Mate, they've messed with your head. You're willing to die for your jailer?"

"I'm not really known for making the 'smart choice'," he air quoted.

"At least it will be quick. Least we can do for a crazy like you." The men chuckled amongst themselves and Joker narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not crazy."

"Sure mate."

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

"Should I?"

Joker shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, I don't do it for the fame but I thought I'd at least make the international media once in a while."

He grinned broadly at the men, revealing his rows of metal teeth. The flashing red light left his eyes empty pits of blue and made them squint when it ran past their eyes. For the first time, the men looked unsettled. And so they should - he'd been inching closer as they spoke and they'd barely noticed, so caught up in mocking him. He could see a tattoo on one of their wrists and recognised it as the insignia of an international militia. Thugs for pay. Whoever had hired them had lots of money to get them on American soil.

"You really shouldn't have called me crazy."

"This is getting old. We gave you a chance to leave her and you didn't take it." The man closest to him, the leader cocked the gun.

Joker started to cackle. "I'm really going to enjoy this."

"You crazy motherfu-"

The swirling red emergency lights swung across the mercenaries' vision and Joker moved. They saw him go but the blast of red light burned their vision, making him nothing more than a dark blur. There was a blast of gun fire but he was too close and he closed his hands around the hot barrel and thrust it upward.

It shot out the red light. A sharp elbow across the jaw and he had complete control over the gun. He could have mowed them down then and there but where was the fun in that? The last thing they saw clearly was his cruel smile before he blasted out the remaining lights in the hallway and plunged them all into darkness.

He dropped the gun. He wanted to kill them with his bare hands.

These were well trained men but they were not prepared for him. Not even a little.

His nails dug into one man's throat, breaking skin, choking and tearing. Joker laughed as he screamed and hot blood spilled down his wrists.

He reduced them to body parts, stomping on them even after they had fallen. Because they might have been well trained but he was living violence and madness.

Soon there was nothing left but the sound of his heavy breathing and his stifled giggles as the adrenaline ran around and around in his body.

There was still fighting going on in the asylum but there was no longer an obstacle in front of him. He could still leave. Someone would find Harley and help her.

Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back. It was too soon. She was close but not there yet.

Joker opened his eyes against the darkness. Now his eyes had adjusted he could make out enough to maneuver easily. He ran back to Harley. She was still.

He checked her pulse, suddenly tense all over. He felt it against his fingers and exhaled harshly.

He gently scooped her up in his arms.

Her arms dropped to her side but she wasn't as heavy as if she'd been dead weight, which was something to be glad for. He wasn't used to being happy that someone was alive and not dead.

Joker walked as swiftly down the hallway as he could manage. The next group of mercenaries might just fire on them without trying to talk to them. Seeing the tattoo made him understand why the emergency lights had come on but the locks had given way. They had access to some pretty fancy technology. But they were going home short several men.

He followed the handy evacuation routes printed on the wall. Harley was stirring in his arms.

"What happened?"

"You fell over," he grunted, and clutched her a little closer to his chest.

"Did not," she mumbled. "Are you hurt?"

He'd taken a few hits in the scuffle but nothing serious. "I'll survive."

"I'm sorry for punching you."

"No you aren't!" he retorted with a laugh.

"No, I'm not," she agreed weakly. "You didn't leave me behind?" The second part came out as a question, as if she wasn't convinced she wasn't dying on a hallway.

"Who else is gonna fix my brain?"

"Thanks, Puddin'," she murmured to him. One of her hands drifted upwards as if she was reaching for his cheek and he almost tripped over his feet he was so startled by the gesture. It dropped before it could make the distance and she grimaced in discomfort.

Now that she was awake, she was able to give him soft directions to the exit. He kicked the door open sharply and emerged into light so bright he was blinded. Half a dozen guns flew up and men were shouting at him to freeze. The place was surrounded by cops.

He stopped where he was. The fading beat of a helicopter came from above. Who ever they came to get was gone unless batman caught up with them. There were others streaming out around him but the police focused almost exclusively on him. The green hair and tattoos were a dead giveaway to his identity. The mercenaries might not have known who he was but these men did and they had the decency to be afraid.

Joker was not having an outstanding few months; first Graham and now he wasn't even the star of a daring escape. To top it off he'd walked right back in to custody voluntarily.

This kept up for much longer and he'd be forgotten completely. His mouth twisted but he chanced a look at Harley's face. She was staring back at him like he was a puzzle she would never quite figure out, but there was something else there, something softer.

All the cops kept shouting at him but they came second to her expression which he found just as bewildering.

He dropped carefully to his knees and gently lowered Harley to the ground. For a second, her hand caught around his. It was so quick that he might have imagined it but he swore she squeezed his fingers.

Joker released her and sat back on his heels. He lifted his hands in the air to show his palms, which were still stained red, and then put them behind his head.

They onlookers were on pause as they took in the seen in front of them.

They didn't move until he spoke. "She needs medical attention."

They swarmed in then, shoving him onto his stomach and replacing his hospital restraints with metal handcuffs. Paramedics were lifting Harley onto a stretcher and rushing her to an ambulance.

One police officer kept his gun trained on him while another, brave, paramedic checked him over for injuries. The officer looked at him like he'd grown a second head and darted bemused glances between him and Harley.

Joker watched Harley until Commissioner Gordon filled his vision.

"I think we need to have a conversation."

"I'm all yours, Commissioner."

The sirens on ambulance wailed through the air, recapturing his attention, and then it was gone, taking Harley off to hospital.

"What did you want to talk about?"

 **AN: apologies for the delay, unfortunately life gets in the way but I try and update as soon as possible.**

 **I try and to respond to all reviews send in by people who are logged in, so if you're a guest reviewer with questions, I recommend getting an account. I got a question about Harley's age - in this AU, Harley is in her early 30s. It takes 8 to 10 years to get get the degree and she's been working for a few years as a licensed psychiatrist. As to whether she is actually older than Joker is a matter for conjecture because he isn't really truthful and he doesn't really know his own age. I hope that answers your question :)**

 **Please review and feel free to ask any questions you'd like!**


	24. Chapter 24

Harley winced as the paramedics wheeled her out of the ambulance. They'd arrived in a procession of emergency vehicles all coming from Arkham. Harley tried to roll her head to see what was happen but they'd strapped her down for safety.

She caught sight of an Arkham issued, inmate uniform. Harley couldn't see the person's face but their chest was a bloody wreck. She stopped trying to how others had fared and instead started to feel grateful she wasn't worse off.

Her lips were salty with her own blood and her nose ached. The rest of her head was pounding like a drum. Doctors and nurses were calling out to each other, speaking in a medical code that Harley recognised but for the life of her couldn't understand.

She wished everyone would just shut up for a second so she could think. She'd left Joker behind amongst a crowd of police officers who would like nothing more than to put a bullet in him. And if he was as covered in blood as she remembered, than it wouldn't be hard to argue he posed a threat.

Her name cut across the sounds of organised chaos and Jonathon materialised at her side. His eyes were wide with alarm as he looked her over.

"Harleen, are you alright? What happened?"

She nodded, struck by his presence here of all places. Maybe the wince of pain and red smeared teeth did nothing to convince him because his mouth thinned into a compressed line.

Harley could have laughed at the juxtaposition between them. He looked as pristine as ever, blue eyes sharp and clear, fitted suit and an expensive jacket. His hand found hers.

"What happened?" he directed that question to the paramedics who were not comfortable answering some strange, intense man's questions.

Putting them out of their misery, Harley spoke up. She swallowed a little and explained. "There was an escape."

Jonathon exhaled through gritted teeth. "Did that clown put you in danger?"

Harley shut her eyes. The opposite. He'd stepped between her and danger, literally shielding her with his body. She'd choked out a sob when he hadn't abandoned her. He was the only reason she wasn't dead.

"He saved me." Saying it out loud, it sounded ridiculous. Joker's whole modus operandi was destabilizing an entire city, he wasn't known for his heroics. But he'd risked his own life to protect her, one woman who meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Jonathon's expression darkened and he leaned back slightly.

"We need to get her admitted," one of the paramedics interrupted. Jonathon silenced with him a look. Harley wondered if they were seeing the ghost of the scarecrow.

"I need a favour," Harley said, squeezing his hand. Once she voiced her request, he would probably snatch his fingers back. "I need you to go check on him."

"Him being... the Joker?"

Harley nodded. "He could have gotten out but he stayed and made sure I lived. Can you go make sure he's being treated ok? I don't trust the PD not to taze him within an inch of brain damage."

Jonathon snorted, "You're worried about his mental health?"

"He's my patient," Harley shot back, with emphasis. She knew exactly what she was asking of Jonathon and why he looked like he'd been force fed lemon. But how could she not?

"Sir!" the braver of the two interjected.

Jonathon locked his eyes with hers. Everything he was thinking and feeling was hidden behind a layer of ice.

"Fine. I'll make sure he gets back to Arkham with whatever's left of his sanity."

Harley relaxed back against the stretcher. "Thank you."

The paramedics decided enough was enough and called out to a returning doctor. She gestured for them to follow with Harley and the motion tugged her hand out of Jonathon's. It was a shame. Despite his chilly expression, she would have quite liked him to stay. She was tired of facing hospitals alone.

...

They had plunged a syringe of sedative into his neck almost as soon as they'd taken Harley away. It was a mild one. The edges of everything turned fuzzy but he was awake and able to walk. Small mercies he supposed. They'd let him wash his hands after swabbing for DNA.

"Are you going to arrest me for this?" He twirled his fingers in front of Gordon who had a serious look on his face.

"No. Unlike most of your crimes, this seems to have actually been in self-defence."

Joker tapped his temple and then pointed at Gordon with a wink. The Commissioner hadn't reacted and had led him to an interrogation room where he was given a cup of water. He would have preferred an actual meal. It had been a pretty long time since he had eaten.

Gordon slid a photograph across the table. Joker picked it up and studied it.

It took him a minute to bring the photo into focus after the drugs, and he eventually had to shut one eye to stop seeing double. It was a man in his thirties, and remarkably unremarkable.

"Is this a stock photo?" Joker asked finally.

"An inmate at Arkham."

Joker pulled the photo up to his nose and squinted. He did look a little familiar. Nothing special though. He could have been half a dozen of the people he'd killed.

"Sorry Commissioner. If he was in Arkham then I didn't know him. I'm pretty withholding, ya know." He hunched forward on his elbows and began tapping an uneven beat into the top of the table.

A muscle in Gordon's cheek tightened but otherwise there was no other reaction. He'd had his hands under the table since they'd sat down. It was for easy access to his gun if Joker did anything alarming.

Even drugs and handcuffs weren't enough where he was concerned. It was honestly kind of flattering and a welcome reminder of who he was.

"Is this your runaway?"

"It was. Franklin Isiah."

Joker whistled. "He hired the Black Eagle regiment, Frank must have been loaded."

That got Gordon's attention. "The Black Eagle? What's that?"

"Mercenaries. Usually based in war zones but for the right amount of money they'd cross borders."

Gordon scribbled down a few notes, watching him cautiously. "How do you know this?"

"They had their insignia tattooed. I saw it on the men I kil- ... defended myself against."

Gordon slanted his head and his forehead furrowed. It must have been driving him crazy knowing that he'd killed more people but they couldn't do anything about it.

"We do have some security footage from cameras they didn't bother shutting down. We should be able to corroborate this."

Joker shrugged. "Don't really care what you do, Comish'." And he didn't. He was thinking about Harley. She had more than held her own but if she didn't have a concussion he'd eat his own eyeball. "What'd he do anyway."

"Tax fraud."

Joker lifted his eyebrows. "Tax fraud doesn't get you committed."

"He was sacrificing people to ensure he made money."

"Murder must sound a lot like tax fraud when you're rich."

"He also thought he was a god reincarnated."

Joker barked out a laugh. "Yeah that'll do it. Makes me look not so bad."

That comment wiped away Gordon's bland pleasantness. "I would say there are plenty of people who think you're the worst thing to happen to Gotham."

"Stop flirting with me, Commissioner. You're not my type." Joker snapped his teeth viciously at the man across the table. His hands had disappeared under the table again, probably touching his gun.

"Talk to me about Miss Quinzel."

"Doctor Quinzel," Joker corrected with an obnoxious grin.

"Doctor Qunizel," Gordon amended. "You two were together when the attack started?"

"I was in therapy. She thinks she can cure me."

"Can she?"

"Meh. Nice girl, lots of ambition but not particularly bright."

"She got banged up pretty badly getting out of there."

Joker's chest flared hot. She had.

"Dangerous job," he said simply.

"Sure, sure," Gordon agreed easily, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "But this is the third time in as many months she's been mixed up in this kind of thing."

"Pretty sure one of those was your fault. Letting her get in over her head," Joker practically snarled in response.

"A lot of them were your fault."

"What can I say, I have a weakness for blondes who make bad life choices." His spine was ramrod straight and an eerie calm settled over him. Cuffs or not he could slam Gordon's head into the table a whole bunch of times before he got his gun free. He'd probably get shot though.

"Are you attracted to Doctor Quinzel?" Gordon asked mildly, as if barely curious. But it was a trap. Joker didn't know exactly what he hoped to gain but Gordon wasn't the master manipulator he liked to think he was. Not like him and not like Harley.

Joker was about to tell him he'd fuck anything with a heart beat and see how truly uncomfortable he could make the Commissioner when the door opened and a tall man swept into the room, followed by a flustered cop who was trying to stop him.

Gordon was on his feet in an instant, his face quickly sharpening with disgust.

"Who the hell let him in?"

Joker leaned back in his chair, intrigued but not alarmed. The intruder wasn't particularly scary on the surface. Long fingers and a coat that appeared expensive.

It wasn't until their eyes locked that Joker also stood. The man across from him had the dead eyes of a shark.

"You have a psychiatric patient in an interrogation room!" The stranger threw back in Gordon's face, spreading his arms wide. "Where's his lawyer? Where's his doctor?"

Gordon's lip curled. "You know damn well where his doctor is."

"Mr J has experienced a very traumatic night and saved the life of a staff member," the newcomer drawled disdainfully. He met Joker's stare with those blank icicles that still somehow promised violence. His jaw tightened at the reference of Harley and Joker was almost positive he mirrored him.

He desperately wanted answers but frankly if this well-dressed asshole could bluster him out of this room, then he was more than happy for him to have at it.

"Has he been assessed after that?" the man continued to push.

For the first time, Gordon shifted with discomfort.

An irritated sigh that managed to be stingily condescending followed by, "I'll take that silence as a no."

"Last I checked, you lost your license, Crane."

That name. That name was familiar.

"And yet, you're still worse for someone's mental health, Commissioner."

Gordon scowled and for a second, Joker thought someone was going to get punched but he wasn't sure who was going to come out of it the best. Crane was neat and manicured but those god damn eyes.

Gordon rounded on Joker as if he was somehow complicit and was instantly annoyed by the bemused but bright grin he found beaming in his direction.

"You got a number for your lawyer handy?"

Joker recited Frost's number, though odds were Frost already knew where he was through his many sources throughout the city.

With one last glare at Crane, Gordon stalked out. "Don't take your eyes off them," he snapped at the officer who had let Crane in in the first place.

Crane rolled his eyes at the Commissioner's back.

Joker waited for Gordon to get out of ear shot. "I wasn't expecting a big strong hero to rescue me tonight." He batted his eyelashes and raked his gaze over Crane, hoping to provoke a reaction.

Crane didn't respond to his deviancy. He already reminded him of Frost in some ways and maybe if he didn't have a connection to Harley, he wouldn't hate him immediately.

Because he might not have a lot of information but he was already starting to put the pieces together. Crane looked like he'd have to be set on fire to get a reaction but now he wasn't bickering with Gordon, Joker could examine him properly. Shirt was buttoned unevenly and his hair was rumpled. He'd rushed out of bed and he definitely hadn't come to the holding cell first. He'd gone to the Doctor and in a hurry.

It wasn't just his obvious good looks in an anemic way that irked him. It was more the way the sight of him caused his hackles to rise.

"You're that scarecrow guy aren't you?"

Upon those words, Crane became more distant if possible. He clearly didn't want to be here, which begged the question of why he was.

"Allegedly," he responded in clipped tones.

He'd been sent here at the instruction of Harley.

Joker laughed, tipping his head back. "That was a great joke."

Crane offered a one shouldered shrug, keeping one eye on him and one on the officer who was trying not to listen. He took a step away when he realised who Crane was. Smart choice. Fear itself in a person.

"Still in the business?"

"Didn't work out," Crane said dryly.

"Shame that. Real unique idea."

Joker wasn't just blowing smoke up his ass. A very small part of him respected Crane's work but unfortunately for him, he had a very punchable face.

"Yes well, like Icarus, I flew too close to the sun.'

So. Very. Punchable.

"And got infected with your own serum and went cuckoo?" Joker twirled his finger for good measure.

Crane's lips thinned very slightly. "I'm no longer in an asylum, but by all means, make your own judgments."

He said it all with barely an inflection. It was hard to get a read on the man with all his arrogance and shields ups. He wanted to peel all those layers back and find a human - blood, bones, screams and all.

Joker grinned broadly and slumped back into the chair. He put his chin in his hand. "Boy, do I have a type."

That got a reaction. Crane tilted his head and surveyed him like a predator. Joker met his gaze fearlessly and ran his tongue across his teeth. Crane raised his eyebrows.

Their babysitter cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"How's the doctor?"

He'd wanted to ask the second Crane had appeared but he'd resisted.

Crane's fingers curled into a fist. "She's alright," he bit out.

"They charge you per word? Give me details!" the demand came out hot and dangerous.

"She's got a concussion. But no internal bleeding. She'll be alright."

Joker released a breath he didn't know he was holding, which Crane picked up on, his shoulders drawing back as if he'd quite like to slug him in the jaw.

Joker darted a tongue out, daring him to attack him. He didn't know all the details of Crane's fucked up and magnificent experiment but he knew that he shouldn't be walking around free. Which mean he'd cut some kind of deal and attacking prisoners would send him right back into Arkham.

Harley's poor head would explode if she had to manage both of them in one space and Joker for one had no interest sharing his doctor.

Whatever might have happened was derailed by the appearance of Gordon, who looked like he'd been fed something bitter, closely followed by Frost.

"This seems to be in hand now," Jonathon said by way of farewell, which earned him another searing glare from Gordon.

"Don't come barging in here again, Crane!" Gordon snapped as the handsome man left. Crane inclined his head in acknowledgement, refusing to even glance in Joker's direction now he could leave.

...

Hamia was the one who helped Harley home in the end, not Jonathon. He'd been distant with her since he'd gone to rescue Joker. He watched her with the calculation he usually reserved for his patients and he seemed reluctant to touch her, as if she might shatter into a million and one pieces.

Harley had known it would be a bad idea to send him but she had no choice. Joker was his own worst enemy sometimes and riled up, he could be goaded into saying who knows what to the police. She didn't think a little thing like Miranda rights would stop them using his words against him if he said something incriminating. There was too much public interest in sending Joker to a dark, dark hole far away from the city.

But it had cost her.

Harley was glad for Hamia's company. She didn't act like she was fragile, instead she was outfight proud of the way Harley had defended herself. In fact, she'd barely waited until Harley was back on her feet when she started imparting more lessons. Gentle, low-impact lessons but teaching her all the same.

The self defence talk was interspersed by Hamia regaling her about a bad first date she'd had. It was a stark bit of normality and Hamia's dry tone and self-deprecation made Harley laugh until her ribs hurt.

Jeremiah frowned so hard at her when he saw her in his office covered in bruises that she thought he might pass out.

"Will you please take leave this time?"

"I did last time," Harley had tried to lie.

Jeremiah rubbed his chest. "Sure. Let's say, for insurance purposes, I believe you. But maybe _actually_ take leave this time."

Harley had winced, realising she wasn't nearly as stealthy as she'd thought she'd been. Thankfully the guards she'd had to bribe seemed to have kept their silence or she'd be in her own cell right now. But just like last time, she was eager to get back to the asylum. "Jeremiah, I appreciate your concern, but I am feeling much better than last time."

He sighed, popped two aspirin into a nearby glass of water. "You can walk, that's something."

Harley wrinkled her nose. He seemed agree with her too easily which was suspicious. "So I can resume sessions with Mr J at least?"

"That should be fine. We've rearranged the accommodation so the high needs residents are still in Arkham while we repair the damage and the police conduct their investigation. The rest are being housed in lower-security facilities."

Harley must have started to smile so Jeremiah waved a finger in front of her nose. "But take it easy alright?"

"I'm just glad you're not fighting me on this." She hoped that statement would prompt more information from him.

Jeremiah paused, his gaze flicking once to the computer on his desk. "I've seen some of the CCTV footage of that evening," he confessed quietly. "And hearing he saved your life is not the same as seeing it."

Harley shifted her weight uncomfortably, acutely aware of her visible injuries. They'd heal; she would have had a far harder time recovering from a bullet to the face. This was also the first time she'd heard of footage. And part of her wanted to see it.

As if he read her mind, Jeremiah said, "the police took it as part of their investigation but it was quite shocking. I have to admit, I had doubts about whether you could treat a man like that."

"You and everyone else," Harley murmured, remembering the conversation she'd overheard in the bathroom. She hated that she had validated some of those rumors.

"But you've made phenomenal progress with him and I would hate to see it interrupted now."

The praise eased over her, making her cheeks burn. Jeremiah was a widely respected professional and to have him say that to her made her chest tight.

"I appreciate that," she managed to say coolly.

It took a great deal of self control to leave Arkham and not go see Joker, finally look at him after he saved her life. This was really the second time, if you counted sending his goons out to scour the streets for her presence. But that was just a phone call, this was personal. He got blood on his hands for her.

It was the first time that his promise to kill Graham really sunk in. All his promises of violence, they weren't hyperbolic. They were visceral reality.

Instead she went home for a number of hours. In fact Harley waited until it was well and truly night time and the day staff were gone. The night staff were easier to bribe and had more or less kept their mouth shut.

Joker was sprawled on his bed reading a novel upside down. It was so absurd but he had the expression of someone entirely engrossed in what he was reading. His hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes. The pale skin of his arms were mapped out in bruises and scratches, interspersed with the vivid ink.

"I met your friend, Crane," Joker said without so much as switching his attention from the book.

"We'll be fine," Harley told the guard, who shrugged and passed her the wrist restraints. He left without a word.

Joker raised an eyebrow. "You weren't nearly that kinky last time you were here."

Harley fought off a grin. It wasn't that his words amused her - they were crude as per usual - but just hearing his voice eased something inside her. Even if it was abrasive.

"Unfortunately they're not for fun," Harley replied evenly, not rising to his bait.

Maybe her neutrality irritated him because he swung his feet off the bed and stood up, fixing her with a penetrating stare.

His lips thinned as he took her in. She'd been careful with her make up and hair before coming here but a pretty face didn't disguise the fact that a grown man had hit her a whole bunch of times.

Maybe he was thinking about how close she came to dying? It was hard to tell with him sometimes.

"You didn't have to send a babysitter, I would have been fine."

He sounded sulky, squaring his shoulders like Jonathon was standing just behind her. For the hundredth time, Harley wondered what could have possibly happened between them. Jonathon had not been forthcoming. Joker could generally be relied on to be more chatty but he was the more likely to manipulate the situation and her because of it.

Harley chose not to engage on the topic. Instead she shook the restraints. "Wanna go for an adventure?"

Joker's face stayed blank but then the corner of his mouth twisted up, revealing a glint of silver teeth in the light.

"You're hard to predict, you know that Harls?"

"I'd hope so," she snorted, desperately ignoring the way his compliment felt. If Jeremiah's had made her blush, Joker's compliments set her on fire.

He held out his hands, wrists up. It struck her how stupid she could be being by standing in there alone. It would take very little for him to hurt her. But after the escape attempt, she trusted him not to try and kill her. At least not without provocation. He was in a stable mood for now.

Harley secured the restraints and was careful not to touch his skin with her own fingertips. She could hear him breathing as he stood over her. She had to remind herself not to smooth her hair back self-consciously.

He stood there completely still but his energy seemed to give him movement. Harley cleared her throat and hoped her cheeks weren't flushed.

"Come on," she gestured at him to follow her and he did. Once they were in the halls, he kept silent, unwilling to draw undue attention. Harley had paid for the cameras not to follow them and she wondered if the guards she bribed suspected her motivation or whether they thought it was just unconventional therapy. After all, she was associated with Jonathon.

If Joker wanted to ask questions then he was managing to keep his mouth shut. It sent a shiver down her spine how willing he was to follow into situation he knew nothing about.

She led him up several flights of fire stairs and up to one final door which was stiff and difficult to open. She had to shove at it with her shoulder, wincing at the ache it sent down her body.

"Where the hell are we going, Doc?" Joker finally asked.

Harley went through the now open door first. "You said one of the things you missed in here was-"

"The stars," he breathed looking up. It was a clear night and late enough that some of the city light had dimmed.

Harley had to admit it was an impressive sight, like millions of diamonds flung for as far as the eye could see. There was a cool breeze up this high and Harley wrapped her arms around herself.

Joker was staring upwards, hands left loose. His face was still inscrutable but there was a softness in his eyes that she had only seen a handful of times.

It was so unexpected; the most murderous criminal in Gotham history and objectively a madman so struck by the night sky. She could only guess what he was thinking and what that sky meant to him. She stopped tracking his reaction and instead tilted her head back if only to see what he was seeing.

There was freedom in it. Freedom and power.

"Why?"

Harley kept her chin turned up and half shrugged. "Why not?"

"People don't do anything for nothing, Princess. Why?"

Why indeed? She wanted to have some Machiavellian reason for leading him out here, for it to be one part of their chess game but it was a lie. And she couldn't bring herself to lie to him in this moment - he was too sane, too lucid. There was no denying the mad clown made her heart pound and her skin hot but this version of him affected her too. It made her stomach twist tight.

She finally looked at him. "Because you saved my life."

That answer confused him more than an ulterior motive. He couldn't fathom a simple, honest gesture. She waited for him to eventually speak, trying to predict what he might say. How he might blow up this moment between them with some careless comment.

"Dance with me."

"There's no music," Harley observed dryly. She didn't want to broach the distance between them. Definitely didn't want to touch him.

"I thought you were thanking me for saving your life?" he pushed, with a smirk.

"No," Harley said, shaking her head, refusing to get drawn in by the luring quirk in his mouth.

"Please." He held out his hand, it grinned at her and she stopped. Had he ever said the word 'please' to her or anyone?

She took a step closer, not sure how he wanted to dance with her in nothing but starry silence with his bound hands.

He lifted his arms, dared her closer and flashed a wicked grin. Harley's mouth was too dry to speak.

She stepped into the circle of his arms which lowered around her. She was so very close to him that there was only a breath separating them and then not even that as he drew her against his body.

He was still being gentle which frightened her more than if he manhandled her. Then he'd be Joker playing a game and not whoever the fuck this was. Harley was terrified it was the same man, just two sides of him.

In her head she prayed it was an act.

Almost instinctively she put her hands on his shoulders and then they started to sway to a rhythm that only he could hear.

His palms were warm on her lower back, the restraints dug into the skin next to her spine as if she might have forgotten they were standing on the roof of the asylum.

Abruptly, he slipped his grip lower so his hands rested on her ass. It was so expected that she burst into laughter and he cackled alongside her.

"That's better. Jeez, I thought someone had died for a minute there." He squeezed a little bit and she punched him lightly in the shoulder.

"Ouch," he winced. "That's where your gratitude stops then?"

Harley glared at him before dropping her forehead forward onto his chest. He smelt clean, like soap, and his heart beat slowly.

What are we doing?

"Self-destructing," suggested a voice in her ear causing her to jump. She hadn't realised she'd spoken out loud.

Joker leaned into her and nipped her earlobe hard between his teeth. It made her hiss and press into his body.

She lifted her head to scold him for a cheap trick but his face was still only an inch from hers. Even without his make up there was still something completely other about him. It had scared her in the beginning and scared her now. But it was no longer the strongest emotion she felt around him. It was blended in with the curiosity, anger, irritation, lust and...

And affection. Genuine affection that made her heart swell when she saw him or heard his voice.

And that was the source of her true fear. She scared herself more than he did now.

She should leave but she was frozen in panic and blinded by starlight.

Her palms slipped up to his cheeks. She rose on to her tiptoes.

And she lifted her mouth to meet his.

 **AN: Hi all, sorry for the delay! I only really get a chance to write on weekends and I've been out of town the last few of them.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this offering - we're getting into the feels now. Please review, it makes my day.**


	25. Chapter 25

I've got to, got to

Set the city on fire

I'm gonna leave you now

And I'm gonna lose my mind

Take my name, take my body too far

Save my name, I will overcome

~Focus, Elias

Her lips were soft and gentle and the lightening strike that curved through his body was painful bliss. He wanted to bottle the sensation - his heart had never beat so painfully. It was jagged in his chest, catching on every breath. He hated it. She was reducing him to nothing but a body and an impulse. He wanted to drown in her.

The hurricane of his mind slowed to a single thought and it was all Harley. He couldn't remember the last time his brain had been this quiet. The part of him that screamed vanished in a puff of smoke like a candle snuffed out. That was the voice that told him to get away from her, to stop her winning this moment. It was the voice that told him that maybe he'd have to kill her, to stop the infection that was buried in his veins.

But the curl of her hands, the press of her mouth didn't feel like her winning. It didn't even feel like a competition. He stepped into her, one hand tangling in the ends of her hair and one clutching her elbow as he slanted his lips to better taste her, to better meet her.

Harley groaned against him, a broken and greedy sound. He clutched her closer and she gasped in pain. She'd been so close to death so many times since knowing him; he'd been the cause more often than not, but that night in Arkham was the first time he'd fully comprehended the consequences of her dying. The screaming voice had been very loud that night, screaming and laughing both.

Arms wound around his neck. His hands slid down her back until they were cupping her ass. How did one person dance so closely with death and feel so alive? He wished the restraints gone so he could explore her completely, consume her completely.

Harley tipped her hips forward, grinding against him in a way that made him shudder. He tried to grab for the fragments of his plan. There was no control here, he was just spiraling. And if he fell into her then what did that mean for him and her? Did she own him? Did he care?

The silence in his head echoed but he still knew it was bad. He'd wanted to fuck her for almost as long as he'd known her. But that was the difference - fuck her. Pure, animalistic and brutal. Not passionately under the god damned stars.

His body promptly told his mind to go to hell when he used his strength to lift her, hands going under her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him. There were too many layers of clothes between them but he could feel her heat just as he knew she'd feel his hardness against her. A bit of creative ripping and those clothes wouldn't be a problem. He could still remember exactly what she tasted like too, what she sounded like when she came. The memory hit his system as hard as any drug and he'd done enough of those in his days, when he still wanted to remember. When a man wanted to wrest back control of his sanity from the half a dozen demons that crouched inside of his skull.

Her fingers were in his hair now, pulling enough to hurt and her teeth nipped at his bottom lip. They were tumbling unchecked towards something that neither of them could have anticipated. It frightened him. He hadn't been frightened, truly frightened, since he'd woken up robbed of his past. Maybe when she'd been taken. Maybe when she'd kissed him that time in the office.

And as scared as he was, he couldn't bring himself to do anything that might divert them off the current course. He wasn't strong enough.

But she was.

He managed to tear his mouth away from hers to kiss her neck. Her eyes were bright and wild. He could have her, right now - the only cost would be that she got him too.

Joker bit down on the soft skin of her throat right above her pulse point - for a brief instant he had her heart in his mouth.

"Do you make the same sounds when you're with him?"

"What?" Harley rasped, his words not fully registering through the fog of lust.

"Jonathon Crane?"

She stiffened against him instantly. She had the advantage of height with his arms still supporting her. He looked up her and knew his eyes had gone cold. Her reaction was a bucket of water to his system and everything came screeching back in, a thousand voices talking to him at once. Turmoil and confusion was plain on her face. A small giggle escaped him.

One of her hands was still wound in his too long green hair, the fingertips of her other hand hovered over the inked _damaged_ on his forehead. She almost touched his skin but then jerked her hands back, shoving him in the chest until he let her go. He had to lift his arms quickly to stop her catching on the cuffs and she winced as she landed awkwardly. She really had taken a beating.

He looked at her like she was a stranger. She looked at him like she knew him too well.

"Jonathon is-"

Harley trailed off and that silence told him a lot. Who was the joke here? He'd been playing her, wheedling his way into her affections but what good was that when there was already a claim on her heart.

"He's the beautiful boy who sent you to me?"

"I don't get sent anywhere," she started.

He barked out a laugh. "Please, Harls. You're so desperate for approval that all you do is get sent places by people. It's pathetic."

He watched her face the whole time he spoke and it was like she had been slapped with his words.

"You don't know anything about me."

"Really?" he sneered, crowding her. She had her back to the wall, no where to run and she smelt like fear. "Because I think I know you pretty well."

"You don't even know yourself."

That stung like vinegar in a wound. Her eyes were darting left and right trying to find somewhere to go, somewhere to run. He didn't give her the space to think let alone move.

Moving suddenly, he slipped a hand between her thighs pressing hard against her. "I know you're wet right now."

She slapped him across the face. "You fucking pig."

He faked a pout. "Poor Harley, you really wanted a ride didn't you?"

"I swear to god!"

"Crane not doing it properly for you."

There was a flush in her cheeks and a hatred in her eyes that would have struck him dead if it had that power.

"At least he doesn't have to play mind games to get in my bed," she snarled. Something crumbled inside him when she confirmed that they'd been sleeping together. Covered in other people's marks but not his.

"You like mind games," he pointed out with a cruel smile. "That's why you're obsessed with me."

'"Obsessed with you?" she spluttered. "You're supposed to be the worst killer Gotham has ever seen but all you've done lately is trip over yourself trying to save me! You're the one who's obsessed."

Even spitting venom at him, she was still beautiful and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around her throat and have her but she'd claw his eyes out if he tried that. He laughed again. Joker was furious with her and himself but he'd successfully lobbed a hand grenade at the danger from earlier. He could see the chess board again clearly.

So much anger but he could harness it and benefit from it.

"Maybe I am, Princess. What do you want from me? Someone to come running to you like a dog?"

Harley shook her head, confused by his sudden change of personality. "No, I don't-"

"My devotion?" he sank to his knees in front of her. "My worship?"

Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. "You're just a liar. A sick, crazy liar."

"Yeah but I made you scream though." He reached out and tugged the hem of her skirt pulling her closer. She was rattled. Unable to think clearly because of her fury and the desire. He could read it in the sway of her body and the biting of her lip. She wanted to slit his throat but she wanted him just as much.

Joker started to push her skirt up, palms dragging against her thighs. "I could make you again."

It was all so very fucked up and wrong. It was perfect.

"No," Harley shook her head as if clearing her mind. "No!" she shoved his hands away.

He stayed on his knees and watched her. Her expression had gone blank as she hid away behind her walls. He stopped trying to fight the urge and instead smirked up at her, waiting to see what type of move Harley would pull. If she was smart, she'd drag him back to his cell and leave him there with nothing but a hard dick and a stinging cheek.

"Prove it." She spoke softly, barely more than a dark rasp.

"Excuse me?"

"Prove it," she repeated, more sternly. "Show me just how much you supposedly worship me."

He flashed his teeth and reached for her. There were worse chores than bringing her pleasure and knowing it would be the death of her in the end.

To his surprise, she hit his hands away again. "Don't touch me. I said show me how much _you're_ devoted to me." Her voice was sharp and even, parroting his words back at him.

She stood over him and watched him with a titled head and the clinical fascination of the doctor he'd come to loath for poking around in his brain. "Show me," she repeated once more. He was beginning to understand what she was getting at. He was almost impressed at Harley's ability to walk that line. She couldn't bring herself to leave but she wouldn't surrender herself to him. Not after he'd so spectacularly pissed her off by targeting her weak spots.

"Are you going to take the cuffs off?"

"I don't see how that will affect the demonstration."

So impersonal. He looked up at her through his lashes, saw the way her hands trembled, how her chest still heaved - she was a good actor but she didn't fool him.

Joker made sure their eyes were locked when he slowly undid the drawstrings of his pants. She wanted a show and he was happy to give her one. He was already hard when he took himself in his hand. They'd been so good at playing games before that there was always underwear or desks in the way. But there were no barriers now.

He wasn't offended that she didn't react to the sight of him. She would before the end. He let his head fall back as he stroked. The stars really did stretch out endlessly above him. He closed his eyes, conjuring the image of Harley in her chair with her legs around his head.

His shoulders rolled back as he remembered how she'd twitched against him, imagined how she might fell with her whole body pressed to his. When he looked at, her mouth had softened. Her eyes were wide and locked on his face. If she'd just look down maybe he wouldn't have seen the powerful helplessness there. It just made him stroke himself harder, a groan escaping his lips.

All his desire for her had been building up inside him for too long now. He wouldn't last much longer but he wasn't overly concerned with stamina at the moment. He just needed her to watch and let her imagine what it would be like with him. All that unleashed craziness in her bed, in her. His breathing hitched at almost the same time hers did and his hip lifted as he tumbled closer to release.

"Is this what you wanted?" he managed to grunt, refusing to let her disassociate from what was happening right in front of her.

"Yes," she breathed in reply and that single word was all he needed to climax. Heat rushed through his body and euphoria expanded in his chest.

He stayed on his knees before her for long minutes, catching his breath while she seemed frozen.

When he could finally speak, he flashed her a wicked grin, tongue swiping at his bottom lip. "Don't suppose you want to clean me up?"

That comment broken the spell he'd cast over her, her face freezing over. "Pass."

Stone cold but he laughed out loud all the same. She was screwed now. She was going to see that scene on replay for weeks if not months until she finally caved and begged him for a taste for herself.

"Whatever you want, Princess."

…

Harley took a few big gulps from her wine glass, quickly realised that wasn't going to cut it, and broke into a seldom used vodka bottle. Two shots in quick succession took the edge off.

She could now officially lose her license ten times over. One kiss was a million miles across the line, sneaking him a phone was criminal, letting him go down on her was entirely unethical - asking him to masturbate in front of her was… it was fucking bad.

And asked wasn't really the right term either; demanded more like it, or decreed.

It had been nothing but self control that had kept her hands by her side while she watched and ignored the throb between her thighs that had come and gone and returned with enough speed to give her whiplash. Her hands shook as she returned to the wine.

Harley knew that all it would take to get the edge off was fifteen minutes in the shower with some music and her fingers. But it felt like giving him too much credit. He would know. Somehow he'd know and he'd win.

So she paced and tried not to think about Joker on his knees offering himself to her. It was like there was a clamp on her chest whenever she did. She'd only ever seen him fully dressed before now. It felt like too much too soon. All she'd wanted was to know whether the hard lines of muscle in his arms wrapped across his stomach. She'd gotten far more than she was ready for and she'd asked for it.

That asshole had known exactly what he was doing and she'd pridefully played into his hand.

Harley rubbed her face, her mind racing as she wondered what she could do to switch the power dynamic back in her favour. How quickly it had all changed out there under the stars. He'd kissed her in a way that meant something but it had shattered like glass when he'd mentioned Jonathon.

Her phone buzzed. She looked down and saw Joker's name on her screen and grimaced. She could only see part of the message.

 _Are you thinking about my-_

She swiped it off her screen furiously without opening it. Of course she was still thinking about his everything. And if there was a single eggplant emoji in there, she didn't want to know.

Still rattled, Harley called Hamia.

"Do you want to train tonight?" Harley asked without preamble.

"Harleen, it's almost midnight," Hamia mumbled into the phone. "I was asleep."

"That's not an answer," Harley retorted.

There was a brief silence and then a sigh. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, just really in the mood to get some stress out of my system."

"Ok?"

"And the vodka hasn't worked yet."

"I'm not sparring with you after you've been drinking," Hamia explained patiently.

"You're no fun!"

Another sigh. "How about I come over with _more_ vodka and you can tell me about it?"

"Deal."

"It better be juicy as hell!"

It took Hamia about 20 minutes to get there and she looked tired but had the promised vodka. Harley poured them both a shot.

Hamia winced but threw it back. "Can I please hear the reason why I had to drag my ass all the way over here?"

"It's a nice ass."

"Flattery will get you no where, Doctor. Now spill it!"

Harley groaned and let her head fall into her hands. Perhaps this was a mistake. A big part of her wanted to tell Hamia everything but knew she couldn't. Hamia was a good person with a capital G. She didn't want to put her in a position where she'd have to compromise her integrity.

"Does this have anything to do with 'complicated'?"

Harley nodded, looking miserable. "Complicated is an understatement."

"Is he like your boyfriend?"

"No!" Harley exclaimed. "No!"

"Alright," Hamia said, holding up her hands, "I was just asking."

"Have you ever fallen for a man that you knew was bad news?"

"I can say I really haven't."

"You know what I mean."

Hamia nudged Harley with her elbow affectionately. "Sure, I've like girls I knew weren't going to be good for me long term. But I think that's pretty human."

"Have you been into two of them at the same time?"

"So there are two?"

"Yes," Harley mumbled into her hands. "But one is definitely worse than the other one. But I just, find I'm drawn to him."

"How bad are we talking here?" Hamia asked, suddenly wary. She was probably thinking of all the times Harley had been bruised and cut up.

Harley wanted to lie to Hamia. Because without context, there was no way to understand and there was no way to explain.

"Bad," she confirmed. "But sometimes I see something in him that is so beautiful and unique."

"It isn't your job to fix people," Hamia started before pausing. "I mean, I guess it is. But your love life shouldn't be a project."

"What about a competition?"

"Also _not_ that."

Harley poured more vodka into two small glasses and considered what Hamia was saying. "But it's kind of addictive," she admitted in a small voice. "And sometimes I think I might be winning."

"I get it. It sounds super hot and super unhealthy."

Harley couldn't argue with that.

"What about the other person?"

"If we're grading on a scale, then less bad."

Hamia wrinkled her nose. "But still kinda bad."

"I have a type."

That earned her a chuckle. Her phone buzzed on the table and Harley quickly snatched it up so Hamia wouldn't see the screen. Mr J was hardly a subtle title. She quickly opened her contacts and changed it to Bernard while Hamia watched her with a knowing glance.

"What's it say?"

Harley opened it, happy for the excuse.

 _Sometimes all I think about is the taste of you on my tongue._

Harley closed the message quickly, feeling a bolt of energy that went straight through her body and tingled her nerves.

She opened her mouth but Hamia waved her hand. "I can tell from your expression that it was something filthy. Was it from Bad or Less Bad?"

"Bad," Harley confirmed with a grin. "Should I write back?"

"Part of me thinks no, part of me thinks destroy him!"

Harley considered, then hiked her skirt up so that the lacy tops of her stockings were visible. She snapped a quick photo and sent it back with the caption: _I should be all you think about._

"That would do it," Hamia mused. "Although I more meant just texting back without the visual."

"Too late," Harley replied and ignored the pit in her stomach.

It didn't take long before there was another message followed immediately by one more.

 _Do you know what I'd do to you if I were free?_

 _I'd make you forget that beautiful boy._

Hamia pushed herself to her feet. "I can tell by the way you sucked in that breath that you're going to be focused on that for the rest of the night."

"You don't have to go," Harley said, quickly feeling bad.

Hamia shrugged with a grin. "I'm not going to lecture you abut making smart decisions. Just make safe ones."

Neither option Harley was considering was smart or safe.

"I'll leave the vodka just in case." Hamia patted the kitchen bench and let herself out. Harley turned her attention back to her phone. Those last two messages from Joker burned into her, like he trailed fingers over her, wiping away her earlier fury at him. Harley poured herself another shot.

…

It was too bright and far too early when she finally cracked her eyes open. Harley's tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth which was enough of an indication that she was hungover as she needed. With a loud groan she rolled onto her side. At least she was wearing pajamas which was something. It had been a number of years since she'd been drunk enough to warrant a hangover.

Her stomach was hollow. She'd been texting. She groped for her phone on her bedside table and instead found it near her hip.

She opened the text message she sent Joker and was relived to see she'd only sent one after his aggressively suggestive comments. _You'd try_.

That wasn't so bad. In fact that was kind of a perfect way to put him in his place.

She was more concerned to see that she had text Jonathon.

 _Why don't we hang out much any more?_

 _Because you're always working and getting kidnapped_ was the reply Jonathon had set. She could almost hear his dry exasperation through the phone.

Harley rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hand.

 _We should catch up. I haven't seen you since you were living with me._

 _Except the hospital._

Harley poked her tongue out at her phone and hoped she'd done the same when she'd been drunk.

 _You're an asshole!_ Even better.

 _Well I can't abide you being mad at me. How about I take you out for dinner tomorrow night?_

Tomorrow night was tonight. This was the first time seeing him since he'd rushed to her side. Her stomach twisted. She missed him. It was like her other half had gone. But she knew it couldn't be like it was before, not now that she'd blurred the lines of her life and put him in the same room as Joker.

Drunk Harley had shared none of her reservations.

 _You're paying!_ Was what she'd written back. Drunk Harley clearly thought they were hurting for cash.

Jonathon's response said it all: _…_

She must have passed out because there was no way she would have settled for an ellipsis as a response. Flopping on to her back, she was glad she didn't have to go into work today. Jeremiah was still afraid that she was too hurt to be there so was hardly going to call asking where she was. And as for the session she should be having with Joker - well, he could sit on it and spin as far as she was concern.

She was more than aware of his ability to amuse himself now. Vividly aware.

 **AN: apologies for the delay and the shorter than normal chapter. I've been busy and working on something original that I hope to publish on Amazon soon. Thanks for all the amazing reviews on last chapter. Please let me know what you think!**


	26. Chapter 26

_Taste me_

 _Drink my soul_

 _Tell me all the things that I shouldn't know_

 _~ The Pretty Reckless_

Harley weighed up the options in her wardrobe and loathed the twinging feeling in her belly. Her hangover from earlier had faded after a warm shower and several cups of coffee so strong that she'd winced the whole time drinking it. But with a clear head, a newer, more unfamiliar emotion settle across her shoulders. She was nervous. Harley hadn't been truly nervous to see Jonathon in a long time.

And she wasn't quite sure why she was. Instead of exploring it, she considered her dresses and what message she wanted to convey. Black was very business like; it supported the status quo. It was the safe option but she hesitated to put it on.

"That's a boring dress," Joker said. Or, the phantom version of him did.

Harley held her fingers to her eyelids and pressed until spots of red bloomed in her vision. "You're not real," she mumbled. Her phone had sat quietly all day and she hadn't seen him but yet his voice invaded her thoughts as if he was actually standing there.

"Are you tying to kill him with boredom? Pick something sexy to show off the twins!" Phantom Joker emphasised his instructions by cupping imaginary breasts.

"Do you want me to seduce, Jonathon?" Harley fired back, trying out her therapist voice.

The phantom looked confused, as Joker blended with her consciousness, before the vision snorted. "Do what you want, Harls. I don't give a shit."

"We both know that's not true."

Joker flopped down on her bed, suspiciously weightless as if her mind was happy to summon him but unwilling to give him true presence. "None of us know anything. We're all just mortals crawling towards dust."

Harley fixed him with an unblinking stare that burned her eyes. "Why are you here?"

"Because you wanted me to be, Princess."

Harley didn't know how to respond to that. She thought not seeing him was for the best after some of the messages and photos she'd sent. And she was withdrawing like an addict, so desperate for interactions with him that her traitorous brain was just making them up.

She pulled out a red dress that sat further back in her closet. It was shorter and more low cut than most of her every day wear but less extravagant than the gowns. It was a good middle ground.

"You're not going to wear that," Joker assessed with a mouthful of silver, his features predatory.

"I'm not?" Her response was stark in the quiet room. Talking out loud to ghosts.

"That dress says something, Harls. That and your drunk messages both. You're too scared to say that to Crane."

Harley held her breath. "What is it I want to say to him?"

Joker rose slowly to his feet, a grimace twisting his smile. "That you feel things for him. That you want to fuck him."

Harley shuttered away from the crudeness of his words, _her_ words, on his lips.

There was an honesty there. She could tell by the way it left her raw and hurt. But it wasn't the complete truth.

Joker was right behind her now. "You know why you don't want to tell him that, even though you feel it?"

"Because of you." It might have been a question, it might have been a statement.

He was painfully smug, so much vicious joy in her discomfort, but as much as she tried to transform his expression into something more neutral it stayed as it was.

"Because as much as you feel for dear Doctor Crane and as much as you lust after him too, it's not as much as you want me. Between the two of us, it's my cock you think about when you touch yourself at night."

Heat poured into Harley's cheeks. His eloquent vulgarity panicking her - she knew he wasn't real but she could believe him saying those things. And it was made worse by the fact he was an echo of her mind. She rubbed her palms across her face, exorcising Joker and her confliction.

As if to prove that they'd both been wrong, she picked out the red dress. It slid over her body, curving against her silhouette. Her skin was pale against it's flame but luminous too.

She was beautiful, more so than usual. Not that it was guaranteed to have an affect on Jonathon who had known her for years but never been particularly moved by her beauty. Certainly he was aware of her allure but he'd not been interested in Harley until he started to know her mind.

As much as she was tempted to take a quick shot of the vodka Hamia had left behind, she resisted and drank some water instead. Her mouth felt dry and her pulse seemed to catch in her throat. It was just Jonathon. But she lingered in her kitchen until she had to go or she'd be late.

She waited inside the lobby of her building until her car came and then she ran out. Jonathon had text her a time and place earlier in the day. If he thought it was anything out of the ordinary, then he didn't say.

They made good time in the traffic but Jonathon was still waiting for her at the table when she arrived and Harley knew the exact moment when he spotted her. His expression sharpened and he stood. He reached a hand to her as she approached and kissed her gently on the cheek. His pale eyes were inscrutable.

It was easy to forget that this man had gone to the very edge of sanity and thrown himself over. It spoke to his sense of self that he'd crawled his way back and it had left barely a mark. Though if she was watching closely, Harley would swear she sometimes caught a glimpse of fragility in those Arctic eyes.

"It's nice to see you," Jonathon said as he assisted her into her chair. "And you look lovely too."

Despite the innocence of his words - pleasantries really - Harley found herself blushing. There was no way he could have known how much time she'd spent picking out an outfit.

"You look nice too," Harley replied, picking up the menu.

"How's your head?" His tone was entirely neutral and so was his face, if you didn't know it well enough. Harley recognized the little tick in his jaw as a repressed smile.

"Are you going to make fun of me the entire night?"

"Never," Jonathon promised with a lie.

Harley glared at him. "It's fine, thanks very much for asking."

"I'm so pleased to hear," Jonathon said, entwining his fingers in front of him. On a more serious note he added, "I would have picked you up from your apartment."

A discrete reference to Graham and his persisted evasion of law enforcement. She shook her head and forced a smile.

"You can't be my minder forever, Jonathon."

"Who says what I could do forever, Harleen?" There was vulnerability to his words that she didn't recognise.

"I say that I can't be guarded forever," she clarified. They were briefly interrupted by a waiter who took their drinks order.

"You're still paying, right?" Harley quipped, in an effort to distract him. The restaurant was expensive and in a nice part of the city. It was the hot place to be and hummed with life and energy. Harley suspected Jonathon had chosen it for that very reason - people didn't get abducted from the streets unnoticed at this kind of place. Even as she joked her fingers tightened on the menu.

Jonathon's eyes flicked down and then back up at her face. "Of course."

He shouldn't have been able to afford this place after his stint in the psychiatric ward and the revoking of his license. But Harley had no doubt that he could. If he'd already sold the stolen painting than he'd have more than enough cash put away and she was sure he had a number of other schemes on the go that she had no idea about.

"There's a roof top bar too if you're so inclined." He was choosing his words carefully. Maybe she hadn't been the only nervous one.

"I am so inclined," Harley said, and offered him a shy smile which he returned.

The food was delicious and once the wine arrived, Harley's anxiety eased. Or it might have been Jonathon's company. It was familiar even if he had stopped trying to play games with her. She thought maybe it was because he thought she was too fragile for games now but she couldn't bring herself to be offended. It was simpler and she enjoyed that.

He ordered dessert when she would have declined out of habit and was glad he'd ignored her. The chocolate cake was rich and smooth, compliment by the flavor of the wine. She ate it while he talked about his time in Europe. He conjured a picture of his experiences so tangible she could feel them on her tongue with the cake.

"I'm thinking about going back."

That statement shook her from her contented warmth. "Back? When?"

Jonathon offered a one shouldered shrug by way of response. "I'm not sure." He watched her closely as she struggled to find the right words to say. She didn't want him gone again. But just like Joker predicted, she couldn't bring herself to tell him why.

"Not immediately," he reassured her gently. That softness caused her to inhale, to blink and look down. Compassionate Jonathon was practically a stranger to her.

"And the invitation still stands."

He still wanted her to go with him. It was awfully tempting; even more tempting than his first offer.

"Are you sure you wouldn't get sick of me?" It was a weak attempt to alleviate the tension.

"Probably," he replied in a tone so unexpectedly wry, she laughed out loud. "But it would make a nice change from my own company."

"I like your company."

For a second he looked sad but the sentiment vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Just something to think about. Do you want to head upstairs?"

Jonathon offered his arm and she took it without hesitating. He was warm against her side and he smelt good as he led her to the elevator. She'd drunk enough wine that she appreciated his support while on those ridiculously high heels.

The bar was full of people dressed to the nines and for the first time, Harley felt a little under-dressed. Jonathon's hand slid to her lower back as they navigated the crowd to find a small empty booth. It was a little cold to be up this high and out in the open air but the view of Gotham was stunning enough to make up for it. A waitress brought them drinks - Harley got whiskey straight and hoped the heat from the alcohol would balance the cool breeze.

They'd taken a sip of their drinks when a man called out to Jonathon, waving to get his attention. Jonathon blew out a sigh. "Do you mind if I talk to him? He's a business associate."

As far as Harley had been aware, Jonathon's name had been poison in Gotham so it was interesting to see this wealthy man summon him in a very public setting.

"Anything you want to tell me?" Harley asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Not right now," Jonathon retorted with an opaque quickness that was so like their past conversations, Harley felt a rush of nostalgia. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared and Harley was left to people watch and admire the city skyline.

"Doctor Quinzel?" a deep voice intruded on her thoughts.

Harley glanced up into the too handsome face of Bruce Wayne. "Harleen," he amended with a boyish grin before she'd had a chance to answer.

"Bruce!" she hadn't run into the billionaire since the event that had her hiding in the bathroom. She still didn't know what to make of him but the charming gleam of his smile told her she might have been dealing with the playboy tonight if it wasn't for the intensity in his eyes.

"It's been far too long, Harleen. How are you finding the bar?"

"It's lovely. What do you think of it?"

"Well I own it so I might be biased but the customers are world class."

From anyone else that line might have made her roll her eyes but Bruce Wayne was playing a part and she didn't think for one second he was standing in front of her because she was pretty.

She laughed all the same. "Do all the customers get this kind of personal welcome?"

"This is a very exclusive service," Bruce clarified, taking Jonathon's vacated set. "You have interesting taste in dates," he observed casually, drinking from his glass.

"Interesting? That isn't a very 'welcoming' comment," Harley retorted, ladening it with thorns.

Bruce nodded and held up a hand as if contrite. His eyes didn't change. "I'm just saying I've seen that guy in the papers. The reporting wasn't very flattering."

So he recognized Jonathon then. That in itself was of note. "I'm a grown woman, Mr Wayne, I can make my own decisions."

"Bruce," he corrected, his smile still broad. "And of course you can. It just appears you've made a dangerous decision."

"Maybe I like dangerous men?"

"You would love me then."

"Are rich men especially worrisome?" she asked, with wide, innocent eyes and a spark of delight in her heart.

Bruce leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Perhaps I'm not giving you enough credit, Harleen. It seems you're more than capable of managing your life and I've overstepped."

"Just a bit," Harley agreed, sipping her own drink and trying to contain her curiosity. They sat in loaded silence where Harley was certain, just for a second, that she was going to see behind Bruce Wayne's mask.

But he slouched back in the seat and crossed his ankle over his leg. Swirling the drink he was the epitome of everything he was trying to be and Harley couldn't see the cracks in his performance.

"Where are my manners? You're probably celebrating after all."

"Celebrating?"

Bruce's eyebrows drew together. "I know some people in the mayors office and you're all they could talk about."

Harley sat up straighter. "Me? Why?"

"They're saying you cured him."

She didn't need to ask who 'Him' was.

The news was so unexpected and absurd that she snorted through her nose. As much as she liked the idea of everyone lauding her for her professional brilliance, the Joker wasn't cured. He wasn't what she had first met but the idea she had fixed him was ludicrous.

"Why would they be saying that?" Harley pressed, a frown inching the corners of her mouth.

Bruce shrugged, as if he didn't really care that much. "Just that he's shown enough mental competence and cognizance to stand trial."

Harley was blindsided. There was absolutely no way they could have reached that conclusion without consulting her.

Unless, they'd spoke to Jeremiah.

"I didn't know," Harley said in a small voice. That much was obvious.

"I think they only decided recently," Bruce consoled her. "Apparently there is a video to enter into evidence."

A chill ran down her spine. A video? She'd been careful to make sure they were never caught on video doing anything unprofessional. And she wasn't sitting in a jail cell of her own so what could they have seen. It dawned on her. The escape. Joker had stopped and saved her. They'd all seen that. Harley's hands shook.

Bruce looked as serious as she felt. "They're going to request the death penalty."

…

Harley made an excuse to cut her evening short with Jonathon, who was disappointed but didn't protest. She was tempted to rush into Arkham but Jeremiah wouldn't be there until the morning and she didn't think he'd be forthcoming with answers if she appeared on his doorstep in the middle of the night.

Instead she sat in her bed, wishing she could sleep but her brain had switched to high gear. She turned her phone over and over in her hands. Part of her wanted to text Joker. Chances were good that he was awake. But she didn't want to tell him until she had more information. The death penalty? They'd use her rescue as evidence that he was stable enough to make decisions of that magnitude. And if he was stable, then he was responsible for the decisions that had led to the deaths in Gotham. Too many to count. She couldn't bear to think about what it would be like to see him strapped to a table and injected with drugs that would stop his heart.

When it was close enough to morning that it didn't even really count she lapsed into a fitful sleep that was disturbed by violent dreams. As soon as she was able, Harley raced into Arkham and was waiting outside Jeremiah's office when he showed up, briefcase in one hand and coffee in the other. He took one look at her and sighed.

"You need this more than me," he said and passed his undrunk cup of coffee. Harley took it automatically but couldn't drink from it. It was still hot enough that it burnt her palm.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

To his credit, he didn't ask what she was talking about.

"It was only decided last night," Jeremiah said and ushered her into his office.

"But I wasn't even consulted." Harley wanted her expression to be stone but frustrated tears pricked at her eyes.

"Given the consequences of the outcome, the decision had to be made by the most senior member of staff here. You've done amazing work but it was on my shoulders," he explained not unkindly. "I'm sorry, Doctor Quinzel, I know this is difficult."

"He's a criminal," Harley said out loud, "it was inevitable it would catch up with him."

Jeremiah snorted. "I know better than most what you might be feeling. Those outside will never understand. That we can empathize with the inmates, that we want them to get better. There's no shame in caring, Harleen."

She opened her mouth to deny it; to say she didn't care but it came out wrong. "I didn't want to. I didn't think I would."

"Inflicting damage doesn't make these people less human," Jeremiah noted. "It just makes their humanity less visible. We're the ones trained to see it."

"I want to see the video." She got to her feet, unable to sit there any longer. Jeremiah's kindness and understanding made her want to claw her own emotions out of her chest.

He sighed again. Wearier than the first. "I'll send it now."

Harley stalked out of the office before practically breaking into a run to get to her own. Her hands shook as she logged on and found an email from Jeremiah. She hesitated before clicking on it but only for a moment.

From the camera's vantage point, she could see Joker's face so clearly, he was intensely focused on the men that couldn't be seen. She was in the shot too. Crumpled on the ground, small and vulnerable. She pushed at his ankle, trying to make him run.

His expression was conflicted and then it smoothed out. Harley pressed her fingers to her mouth as he stepped over her. Jeremiah talked about humanity but she saw none of that in the Joker. He was frightening and as much a monster as everyone said. He'd decided to kill those men and he had no issues with it - in fact he probably enjoyed it.

Most of the death happened out of sight and then Joker appeared again, his back to the camera, disheveled from the violence. Harley leaned forward, transfixed as he bent and hauled her into his arms. It wasn't particularly gentle or graceful but even on the video she could tell that he was sore from the fight. He could have left then too. She would have been fine, or at least, the odds were good she'd survive. But he'd picked her up instead.

Harley knew this had all happened, she was there for Christ's sake. But it wasn't the same as watching it and it didn't prepare her for how she felt when he turned around and she saw his face again. His expression was _tender_ as he clutched her to his chest.

It was truncated to the key moments. Only a few minutes of video had sentenced him to death.

Harley shut her eyes. The tears she'd been holding back since she spoke to Bruce started to spill down her cheeks. She sat alone in her office and cried silently.

…

Joker was playing poker in the common area when the guards came to find him. None of the other patients seemed too bothered by the fact he held all the cards and they had none. And according to them, somehow he was still losing.

"Doctor Quinzel scheduled a session," one of the guards said by way of explanation. Joker didn't recognise his face.

Joker smirked. That was a recent choice and it meant that she'd gotten over the shock he'd given her on the roof top.

"Maybe I'm busy?" Joker shot back, just trying to be difficult. The guards were easy to rile but after he'd killed half a dozen men with his bare hands, they were less inclined to mess with him.

The guard shrugged. "I'm just doing my job." One of the other patients gently stroked the guard's elbow when he got close enough to touch. The guard gently put her hand back on the table.

"Alright, let's see what the good doctor wants."

He let himself be led to a room with limited fuss. Harley was waiting for him, hands behind her back. She was gripping at her wrist slightly too tight and when she turned to face him, he lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

At all times, Harley Quinzel was objectively a beautiful woman but looking at her now, she'd left her mask at home today.

"Did you kidnapped again and no one told me?" he asked, taking in her pale skin, red-rimmed eyes and the exhaustion that was blatantly obvious in the way she held herself.

She managed a weak smile. "Didn't sleep well," was all she said as if that explained anything.

He flicked a glance at the camera to make sure it was turned off then crowded her, invading her space without giving her a second to protest.

"What's up, Harls?"

She didn't answer but her inhale was shaky. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to hers. She still smelt good, like wine and flesh and blood. She smelt alive.

Her vulnerability bled off her like an aura. A clown twirled in his mind reminding him of the plan. The fucking plan. It was a perfect time to play the puppet master and tug those strings. He wished he was basking in that vulnerability, but her silence flipped something inside his chest.

No one was watching, no one would ever know her weakness was his. His long fingers slid up her neck until they were cupping her cheeks in his hands.

"Harley," he said in a soft voice, that was undeniably reasonable. "Tell me."

"Why?"

"I'm worried." That confession shocked them both because it was unprecedented and because it was true. He didn't enjoy her fragility in the same way he once had. Or at least, not right now he didn't.

"I think there's something broken inside of me," Harley whispered, stepping closer to him, speaking into the join of his shoulder and neck. Her breath was hot against his skin. "I think I'm wrong."

His arms wound around her, tucking her into the length of his body. The muscles of her back pulled taut reminding him of the strength there. But she felt frail in his arms.

"You're in good company, Princess."

She pulled away from him then, though her left hand curled into the front of his shirt and she wiped at her face with the other. "We should start."

"You still want to psychoanalyze me?" he asked incredulously.

"It's the only thing I know I want to do."

He threw his hands up in the air but took a seat and didn't push for possibly the first time in his life. She sat across from him and before his eyes he transformed into Doctor Quinzel. This version of her didn't infuriate him as much any more but it was still his least favourite. The Doctor was unlikely to be distracted if he got his dick out.

"What do you want to ask me about, Doc? My relationship with animals or maybe my first wet dream?"

"If you remember that, by all means."

Joker bared his teeth at her, suddenly steel and ice. It was tempting to spin her an elaborate tale but she'd know it was bullshit. He still didn't know who he was when he was a child. He certainly had no recollection of puberty.

"What would you like to talk about, Doctor?" he asked, with sickly sweetness.

"Would you be willing to try hypnotherapy again?"

"What's in it for me?" he demanded.

"Same deal as always? Dinner, whatever you choose."

Joker laughed like scattered gravel. "We're well past that, Doc."

The doctor shot him a withering look that was diminished by Harley's splintered eyes.

"Then what?"

He pressed his hand to his mouth, hiding one real grin with one inked. What did he want from her? The list kept getting longer and that was half the reason he was still in this stupid asylum when Frost could have gotten him out the day after he'd arrived. Yeah, there were hundreds of things he wanted from Harley but only a few he needed. Her devotion, her love, power over her. It was close. But if he moved too fast now it would blow away.

"Same deal," he started, and held up a finger when she started to speak, confused. "Same deal, no desks. I want to see you."

Her jaw tightened, and there was a bloom of colour in her cheeks. Harley was probably already wet, the doctor was rattled. He liked both those things.

"You're asking too much," she shook her head.

He cackled again. "Too much now?" They were like a revolving door of personalities going up against each other. "I won't even touch you." He twirled his fingers in the air like he was a magician. "Unless you ask."

"For that you better fucking cooperate." The Doctor and Harley were blurring together.

"I'll shake on it."

She eyed his hand with disdain but the pounding pulse in her throat didn't lie.

"Fine."

"And no other obstacles," he added, knowing Harley was crafty enough to find a loop hole if she wanted.

She glared at him, which confirmed she'd been thinking about it. "Fine," she repeated.

He smiled innocently. That was a good result. He would have asked her to get on her knees and take him in her mouth if he didn't think she would have slit his throat in his sleep for trying to bargain with that. Maybe Harley would have sucked him off for fun but in the context of the game they were playing, she'd probably rather die than give in to that symbolism.

She got up and dimmed the lights until the only thing he could focus on was her and she was angry and starkly pale, with purple shadows under her eyes. She pulled something out of her coat and he was disconcerted to see there was a needle.

"Oh didn't I tell you?" she asked, eyes wide and vicious. "This is a mild hallucinogen. Just to assist the process."

She grabbed his arm with surprising strength, plucked the cap off with her teeth and plunged into his arm.

"You can't do that," he protested sounding small and naive. After a pinch of pain, the area felt warm.

Harley winced in a fake-apology. "I probably shouldn't have done a lot of things with you. Now let's go digging, Pudding."


	27. Chapter 27

_I wanna stress you out;_

 _I wanna make things hard_

 _I wanna show my teeth;_

 _I wanna keep you fed;_

 _I wanna be unique;_

 _I wanna be your kind;_

 _I wanna make you hate me then change your mind;_

 _I wanna kill you first then take your name;_

 _I wanna tear you apart;_ _I wanna make your bed;_

 _I wanna break your heart;_

 _I wanna break your head_

~ Lorene Scafaria, we can't be friends

Joker tried to get to his feet and away from the table but Harley still had a hand on his wrist. He was stronger than her but the drugs raced through his system, making him dizzy. His vision blurred and he slumped back into the seat. Flashes of colour obscured the objects in the room until it was nothing more than a kaleidoscope.

"Whoa, Harls. What kind of trip is this?" His lips and tongue tripped over the words.

Her face filled his sight, stuttering in and out of focus. It was even more disorientating when she leaned across the table. She pressed fingers to his throat and took his pulse. If she was satisfied with what she felt, he didn't know. She smiled at him seductively for a second and then she was back in her chair, expression clinical, without apparently moving.

"The effects aren't long lasting, but it will assist us get past any mental barriers you've erected."

"Erected," he repeated then started to cackle, amused beyond sense at her choice of words.

Harley shook her head which vanished into static and then there was a monster sitting where the doctor had been. A demon with pale skin and no eyes. She opened her mouth and blood poured out over her teeth and onto her chin. He shrunk back in the seat.

"What do you see, Mr J?" the monster asked with Harley's voice.

"You."

The creature was frightening but familiar and still strangely beautiful. Joker reached out fingers to it, touching it's cheek lightly. The skin was soft and smooth under his touch.

"You can't stay here, you need to go deeper." Harley's voice again but the monster's mouth didn't move. Maybe they weren't the same entity?

"I don't want to go," he retorted with petulance.

"You don't have a choice."

As if her word was law the walls collapsed out revealing an endless white that he recognised. There were storm clouds on the distance.

"I don't like this place," he grunted, finally standing. His hospital uniform was gone, replaced by black pants and a tapered white shirt. Suspenders pressed in against his body and he could feel the weight of the gun at his back.

An image of Harley and the monster flickered back and forward but they remained at the table, which seemed to be drifting away from him.

"Don't go," he called to them.

"I'm right here," Harley assured him even as she shifted back out of view.

He was alone and the storm was getting closer. He could see lightening striking the ground even at this distance and the flare of fire as it impacted. Joker turned and ran, there was a door right in front of him. Wrenching it open, he threw himself into the adjoining room without looking. It couldn't be worse than the storm.

The door sealed with a snap behind him, cutting off the rolling sound of thunder. He finally glanced around and took in his new surroundings. It was a dilapidated room and there was a shriveled woman lying on her side, face away from him. He knew this. He'd been here before.

"Where are you?" Harley asked from a million miles away.

He shook his head and backed up toward the door. The woman had been alive last time but she was dead now. He knew it from the colour of her skin and the smell. Death was a scent he knew well.

He needed to get out of here before that creepy kid showed up again. He grabbed for the door knob but it disintegrated into a thousand little ants, stinging his hand and running up his arm. Joker brushed them off furiously, breaking nails as he tried to pry the door open but it blew away like it had been made of smoke.

Enraged he smashed his fist against the wall, again and again.

"Stop!"

There was a weight on his hand and something interlaced with fingers.

"Stop," she said more gently. Harley still, speaking directly into his brain and yet somehow holding his hand so he wouldn't hurt himself. "I'm still here."

"Fuck load of good that does me, Harls. I'm talking to nothing."

There was a soft chuckle that he swore he could see in colours - warm orange that collected close around him before dissipating. "You know, I can actually relate. Tell me what you see."

Joker sucked in a breath and flexed his fingers and moved his hand. The weight continued to press against his palm even with the movement.

"I'm in a shitty house. There's a dead woman."

"Who is she?"

Joker shrugged, forgetting that Harley couldn't see him. "Don't know. I didn't kill her though, if that's your next question."

"Have you been here before?"

"I was here the last time you tinkered with my brain."

"Aside from that?"

"Not that I remember," he replied darkly. He hated this place. It pushed against him like a cage and scratched at his mind like he was missing something.

He took a tentative step toward the body and then got close enough to see the face. He was relieved and disappointed that he really didn't know her. Even with the swelling and the purple blooming in her skin, he could still tell.

"She's dead," a small voice said behind him.

"No shit," Joker retorted, spine stiffening.

"I didn't kill her. Did you?"

"Not me." He finally turned and faced the kid. As small and skinny as he remembered. Arms bruised and cut up.

"Who are you talking to?" Harley's voice intruded so abruptly that he jumped.

"Not now, Princess," he snarled.

The boy wrinkled his nose. "Who are you talking to?" he asked, echoing Harley.

"Does no one know when to mind their own fucking business?" he snapped, taking a step forward.

The child flinched but held his ground.

Joker waved his hands in the air. "No one. I'm talking to no one."

The boy raised his eyebrows but mercifully stayed silent.

He steepled his fingers and stared over the top of them at the child conscious that Harley was lurking there. Who was he talking to?

"I don't know," he said out loud, finally answering the boy and the Doctor.

"Don't you?" the boy replied.

"No," Joker snarled. Something dark and tangled swarmed around the boy and then around his own feet.

The boy wasn't at all put out by this and smiled calmly. There was something too broad in the grin. "You'll eventually remember."

Joker shook his head and took his fingertips to his temples and pressed until he felt pain.

There was a soft press against his wrist then ever so quietly, "You're hurting yourself." Harley.

He lowered his hands and briefly wondered what he looked like out of this nightmare scape.

"I don't want to fucking remember," he snapped, trying for nonchalant and missing the mark by miles. The fact the boy was still standing in front of him meant he had a death wish. Joker was beginning to consider what might happen if he just killed him. Would there be blood? He could find out. He took a step forward without meaning to, touching his gun as he went.

The boy didn't budge an inch. Instead he pointed. He was gesturing at a door that hadn't been there when he'd first arrived. "If you're too scared to hear what I have to say you can go."

"I'm not afraid of you!" he said even as he moved towards the new door. He didn't like this room and he liked the kid even less. Something was pounding against his brain. It was trying to tell him that boy was him. He didn't want to believe it. This boy was normal. Normal and disgustingly weak.

He could hear thunder again. It was coming from outside the new door but a shock from a bolt of lightening was better than this. He didn't care what he'd come from, what mattered was what he was now.

"You're not making sense." That familiar, omniscient voice. Harley, not the doctor.

"Screw this," he declared and opened the door and threw himself through. It snapped shut behind him and enveloped him in silence. Thankfully the storm wasn't on this side of the door and there was no endless white. Instead he found himself in a simple wood paneled room that had mirrors hanging everywhere he turned his head. He caught sight of his reflection. His face was the unnatural pallid colour only make up could achieve and his mouth was messily rouged red. His green hair was unruly but he smoothed it back up off his forehead. He burst out laughing when he caught sight of the word 'damaged.' Wasn't that the freaking truth!

"Hey buddy."

He sighed bodily. It wasn't the boy or Harley speaking. It was his own god damned reflection.

"Are you serious? This is a bit much even for my brain."

His own silver teeth flashed at him. "Tired of me? Don't want to talk to this side of you?"

"This is a cliche from every horror movie ever," Joker informed himself witheringly.

His reflection snapped his teeth and in a blink seemed to change clothes. He was in a tuxedo that was dripping in blood. Joker held his breath, his heart pounded faster. He didn't remember his childhood but he remembered what blood felt like on his skin. It was hot and thick at first and it made his fingers slippery. But then it turned sticky and tacky when it dried, flaking away.

"Nice symbolism," he noted with a dry mouth.

"I wouldn't need symbolism if you hadn't lost your balls."

"Aggressive pitch but I'm curious to know where you think they've gone?"

"Into your precious Harley's fist, that's where," his reflection sing-songed.

Joker narrowed his eyes. She thought she had them but didn't, that had been the point of the plan. But he couldn't vocalise that, not with her watching him.

Reflection Joker seemed to know what he was thinking because he snorted. "Please. The plan? She was salivating over you for months. You could have got in between her thighs and killed her already."

"It's too soon."

"Bullshit. Pay attention! And stop talking! You're giving her too much, you need to give her what she _wants_."

 _And what's that_? Joker thought furiously. He started when Harley appeared behind his reflection, sliding her hands across his shoulders. Her blond hair had been slicked down and he caught glimpses of a red dress so plunging it was more of a suggestion than an outfit.

"It _is_ too soon because you keep missing the final piece of the puzzle," his reflection informed him. This version of Harley hadn't spoken but she rubbed her body against the reflection and then reached for his hand. Suddenly making direct eye contact with him through the mirror, she lifted a blood covered finger into her mouth and sucked it clean.

It was frighteningly arousing.

"You know what you need to get her where you want her. She is listening right now," his reflection prompted, unmoved by Harley's attention. Joker couldn't understand that.

"What haven't you given her?"

Joker tilted his head, eyeing himself and Harley like a predator would. He stepped closer and raised a hand. His reflection didn't move but the Harley in the mirror reached for him. Her eyes were sad and desperate.

"What do you still want?" he asked her directly.

She strained for him now, pulling away from his reflection. There was a smear of blood at the corner of her mouth. She tapped her heart. "I need to hear it means as much to you as it means to me."

He shook his head. It was confusing him. He was playing a game. It meant nothing. As if she too could read his thoughts, Harley's expression turned despairing but his reflection nodded. " _Finally_. Lie to her."

Harley's face twisted something inside his stomach and his twin's words ignited a fire that spread with the fluttering of his pulse. Is this what had been keeping him in Arkham? He knew Harley wasn't in love with him yet, not truly obsessed, because she couldn't when he wouldn't reciprocate.

A matching smile spread across his face and his reflection was suddenly in sync.

"Harley?" His reflection coached.

"Harley?"

"I'm here." That voice. That pressure against his fingers.

"I thought you left."

"I thought you left," he repeated, eyes on his reflection. Tears spilled down her mirror version's cheeks. It wasn't sexy anymore, it was something else. He felt _powerful_ seeing her weep.

"When you were taken by Graham, I destroyed everything."

The uncomfortable twinge of truth. Did his reflection sense that too?

"When you were taken by Graham, I destroyed everything."

A pause, everything vibrating in a holding pattern.

"Why?"

"I thought you'd be ki-" "I thought you'd be killed."

"I'm not dead, Joker."

"And then when the escape attempt happened." They were speaking at the same time now, he and his reflection. They both knew what the other needed to say and Mirror Harley was edging away into the background.

"You saved me." The response was a statement and question. He knew what question she was asking.

"I couldn't bear the thought of you being killed." It tumbled out in a rush. Mirror Harley was gone. His reflection was nodding in approval. He could feel warm blood on his skin.

He closed his eyes and he opened them inside the asylum. Harley was watching him from across the table, face stricken, one hand curled into a fist. The other was holding his hand across the table. He felt her pain like an open wound on his own body.

"I need to get you out of here," Harley breathed.

Joker clutched her fingers and started to laugh.

…

Harley knew it was probably the drugs but all he did was cackle.

"They're going to find you fit to stand trial," she hissed at him hoping that would stop the giggling.

"Let 'em. They all say I'm crazy anyway." His pupils had dilated to nothing more than pin points, it left her with the disconcerting impact of solid blue staring her down.

She shook her head. "No, they won't. Not after you saved me. They're going to argue you're responsible for your actions."

"And you want to save me right back?"

"I don't want you to die. Not because of me."

That just made him laugh all over again. She clenched her jaw and fought down her frustration at him. It wasn't his fault that he didn't understand. That was squarely on her shoulders. She breathed in slowly and started again.

"If I don't get you out of here, you're going to die. Does that make sense, Pudding?" A little sarcasm snuck in despite herself.

"Pudding? Where?"

Harley released his hand and pressed both her palms to her face and wondered if she was making the right choice. As soon as she'd heard they were considering the death penalty this option had been hovering in the back of her mind. But she hadn't let herself really consider it until he'd told her she mattered to him. It was pathetic really, he was pumped full hallucinogens and deep in a trance but when he'd said he couldn't bear the thought of her being killed, it had hit her hard. It made her realise the same was true for her.

 _She couldn't bear the thought of him being killed_.

And she was going to do what she needed to prevent it from happening. Joker was still searching the table for his dessert.

"There's no pudding," she snapped, taking her anger out on him regardless.

He offered a one shouldered shrug and snapped his teeth at her. "Doesn't matter, I'll eat you instead." He started to reach across the table but she swatted him away, hoping he wouldn't get it into his head to force the issue. Drugged or not, he could probably manhandle her into a compromising position. She couldn't afford to get distracted by the twinge between her thighs.

"As much as I wish we could fix this by oral sex, I'd love it if I could talk to Mr. J, y'know, infamous criminal mastermind, ruthless killer?"

He sneered at her, looking like himself for the first time. "Harls, did I tell you to stick that needle in me? How about you shove the attitude up your ass?"

She slapped him hard for that, and fuck, it was satisfying. The crack and the jerk of his face. Another twinge between her thighs. She preferred his twisted adoration to his snark, even if he was right.

"I'll make you a deal, we focus on getting you out of here first and you can shove whatever you want, wherever you want."

Joker grinned broadly at her across the table. "Bold words, Harls. But you've got my attention."

Harley rolled her eyes, and prayed that he would forget that exchange when he sobered up. She leaned forward on her elbows and lowered her voice even though there was no one to overhear them. "You need to get out of here some point between now and sentencing. Maybe before if they decide to move you to a regular jail."

He was nodding, a little too vigorously to reassure her he was taking it all in but at least he wasn't talking about eating pudding. Or her.

"Escape, sentencing, jail - got it!"

She doubted it. "But I can't do it by myself. So we need to reach out to your people as soon as possible."

Joker propped his chin in his hand and stared at her searchingly, one of his cheeks had turned red. "What makes you think I have people?"

"All the other times you've gotten out of these kind of places before."

""Then why am I still here now?"

His question made her uncomfortable and his too-blue eyes didn't help. She suddenly didn't want the answer so she imitated his shrug from earlier.

"I don't know why." This morning, that answer wouldn't be a lie. Now it tasted false.

He watched her for a beat without saying something, as if he could read the truth in her expression. "Do you think you'd lick blood off my finger?" he asked abruptly.

"What has that got to do with helping you escape?" she demanded.

His mouth turned down in contemplation. "Just seemed important."

Sensing she was losing him, she reached across the table to cup his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. " _This_ is what's important."

His forehead furrowed. "Spell it out for me, Harls."

She made a little noise of irritation in that back of her throat and closed the distance between them, fitting her mouth to his.

Joker's lips were soft and almost passive beneath hers but then he was leaning into her, kissing her hungrily as if he'd swallow her whole.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, tightening it in her hands. She wanted to breath him in and save his life. Her mind ran the possibilities of him in her apartment, no cameras, no guards, no time limits.

Eventually she broke away from him, looking down at his face. His eyes were still closed, his expression calm.

She didn't feel nearly as serene. Her heart hurt in her chest and her lips stung with the force of his kiss.

"Lead with that next time, Princess," he murmured lazily, brushing his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Tell me who to contact to help you," she repeated.

He eventually opened his eyes and Harley swallowed at the intensity in them.

"Get me a pen," He instructed raspingly.

Harley hastily slid him a pen and some paper but he grabbed her wrist in an iron grip and yanked her half across the table again. She'd been here seconds earlier, no space between them at all, but now was different. There was a stillness and tension that was new. She suddenly felt vulnerable. His strength was obvious, his violence always there in the background. He could hurt her like this - she was off balance and he had the advantage physically. That threat excited and disgusted her.

His eyes were inscrutable and maybe he was thinking of kissing her again or of hitting her. She couldn't tell. The drugs must have been wearing off, and the clown was coming back.

She looked down, fascinated by the smile that wrapped neatly around her wrist. Despite the implicit danger, she traced the illustration, feeling the flesh below the ink. His forearm tensed and his hold tightened but he didn't release her or scold her. Instead he pushed her sleeve up and scrawled some numbers on her skin.

"Call Frost. Tell him what you told me."

Then he let her go. Harley nodded to show she understood and tugged her clothes back into place. When she glanced back at him the predator was gone and there was a content smile.

"And I wouldn't rule out the oral, Princess, you look stressed."

The comment flustered her more than it had before. His sharpness was back and he knew he was riling her up. It was more tempting to take him up on the offer now he was aware of his words. But there would be time for that later.

She matched his grin with one of her own. "Thanks but I can take matters into my own hands."

"Literally I hope."

"I'll send pics." Harley stood and ignored the way she was unsteady on her feet, a fine tremble settling behind her knees.

She didn't wait for him to respond before she pressed the button on the wall that would call the guards, who appeared too quick for him to say anything more.

Harley watched them take him back to his room and then returned to her office, careful not to hurry in case anyone suspect what was wrong. It was only once she got there that she realised that she couldn't call off her own phone. She cursed. This was what she meant by not being able to do it herself. She needed his assistance.

She let the staff know she was taking the rest of the day as personal leave and got a far too sympathetic email from Jeremiah in response. If only he knew. Harley stopped off at big chain store and bought a cheap mobile using cash and offering no ID. Once she got home, she set the phone to private and called the number. She punched in the numbers faster than she could think about whether this was a good idea.

It rang for only a few seconds before someone picked up. A low male voice answered. "Boss?

"Frost?"

The individual, Frost, hung up straight away.

Harley's shoulders slumped and she exhaled loudly. Her fingers shook as she tapped the number in once more. It had become a faded mark on her arm.

This time it went to voice mail. There was no message just the tell tale beep.

"Frost? I'm not your boss but I know him. And we need to get him out of Arkham."

She paused, wondering if it was enough, wondering why she was doing this when surely Joker could contact him with the phone she'd smuggled him. Maybe it was a test?

"The prosecution have enough to assess he's mentally competent to stand trial. And they'll kill him after finding him guilty." It tumbled out in a rush, each word cutting her up like a blade. She had no doubt they would get the death penalty they sought after the damage he'd caused.

"I want to help him. But I need your assistance."

…

Joker was trying to ignore the drugs leaving his system as he held himself in a plank. He saw his contraband phone light up and reached for it one handed.

"Yes?" He affected a posh, British accent for no other reason than it would annoy anyone who wasn't Frost.

"I got a phone call just now, Boss."

"And?"

"And I take it your plan's come full circle?"

Balanced on one hand and delighting in the way his muscles strained, he grinned. "How did she sound?"

"Desperate," Frost surmised in one word.

"Then I have no reason to be here anymore."

"I'll put it in motion. What about the girl?"

"Keep her involved. I want to see how far she'll go."

"And after?" Frost was asking an uncharacteristic amount of questions.

"I don't think I'm done playing with her yet. Make her feel… valued."

"Done."

Frost hung up the phone and Joker lowered himself to the ground. Let Harley help him and burn herself on the way out the door.

 **AN: Thanks for your patience, please review.**


	28. Chapter 28

Harley wrapped her coat around her to keep from shivering. It wasn't that chilly but something about the nondescript street in the industrial area made her blood run cold. She'd ask the taxi to drop her a block away and covered the rest of the distance on foot. Her gaze kept skirting the shadows waiting for someone to leap out of the dark at her. Waiting for Graham. Gotham's finest might be searching for him still but until he was caught, Harley couldn't breath easy when she was out in the open like this. She didn't know what she was waiting for. When Frost had called her and told her to meet him here, she'd agreed without considering it. Now she was wondering if a clown masked madman was going to scuttle out of the dark. He had sounded perfectly sane on the phone but she knew better than most how some things were nothing more than a well constructed act.

For something to do, she fumbled her phone out of her pocket. Still watching the area around her, Harley quickly tapped off a quick text to Joker. Nothing with too much detail.

 _Have I mentioned to you I don't like dark alleys anymore?_

 _What are you doing in a dark alley?_ The response was almost instantaneous but she supposed he didn't have much else to do in Arkham.

 _Waiting for a business associate._ Vague but enough for him to understand what she was talking about.

 _What are you scared of the dark for, princess?_

 _I'm scared of what's in the dark._ She meant it to sound glib but as Harley re-read the message the fear was real.

 _When I'm out, I'll drape you in the entrails of whatever scares you!_

The image was disgusting but the offer made her smile all the same. He'd said stuff like that with increasing regularity since she'd drugged him. She wouldn't call it romance exactly but as gory as the offer was, it still gave gave her butterflies in her stomach.

 _Sexy._

She knew she was goading him into saying something outrageous and part of her hoped he would. Every overture he made was crude or violent and often both. The very real fear that he might face the death penalty had somewhat dimmed her enjoyment of whatever he might say. It was hard to let her imagination and her fingers take over when she was worried about lethal injections. Harley hadn't confessed this concern to him though she was certain it was plain on her face whenever they were alone.

Joker would likely just laugh at her. What was death to a man like that? But it was her own sanity she was fighting to protect by keeping him from dying in a state-sanctioned prison. Maybe once he was out and free, the spell would be broken and she'd shake her head at this silly infatuation. A silly infatuation that had grown roots into her heart.

Harley blew out a nosy sigh with nothing but the dark to witness, and tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear. She wasn't sure how she'd gotten here, or what the future held, but she did know that she wasn't ready to let him die. Wasn't ready for there to be no more Joker in the world. She wasn't comfortable dwelling on it, because something small gnawed at the back of her mind, telling her to give him up. That part also told her to run straight into Jonathon's waiting arms. He would sweep her away to Europe and they'd leave Joker to manage on his own.

 _Sexy is afterwards when I drape your legs over my shoulders and-_

A car turned into the street and Harley jerked her head away from the message but not before catching the graphic conclusion of the text. Despite her fear, her stomach clenched. She hastily stashed her phone in her pocket to give the approaching car her full attention. It was going slow but even still, she wasn't sure it would be for her. Her palms were sweaty and she tried to discreetly wipe them on her coat.

It pulled up alongside her and the window wound down.

"Harleen?"

"Frost?"

"Get in."

Harley complied realizing neither of them had confirmed their identities. Harley fought down her instinct to fill the silence and shifted in her seat, casting quick eyes over the review mirror to make sure they weren't being followed. Then she turned her attention to Frost, who wouldn't have attracted a second look walking in the business district at noon. He was handsome in a clean cut way and he wore a tailored suit. She couldn't even begin to imagine how a man like this had fallen in with the Joker. It was as strange as, well, her falling in with the Joker. She didn't think Joker provided Frost the same stimulation that he did for Harley but then again, what did she know? Maybe they had been lovers at one point or another.

She couldn't picture it though. Frost looked like he'd been born in that suit, had never taken it off, and would die in it.

 _You were more or less clothed when you had him between your legs_ , an incorrigible voice in her head pointed out.

"Stop thinking about sex!" she scolded herself, unaware she'd even spoken out loud until Frost said, "pardon?"

"Nothing," Harley replied, a little too loudly. Frost cut her a knowing look but didn't comment. Harley suddenly felt compelled to talk so Frost wasn't quietly sitting there thinking god knows what about her.

"How long have you worked for Joker?"

"A long time."

"How long is long?" Harley pressed.

"Long," Frost said as if that clarified it. Harley got the hint, clearly he was no easier to get information out of than his boss. Except while Joker's madness served as an effective shield, Frost was using old school terseness. Maybe _that's_ why Joker liked him so much? Didn't say much, didn't question much, just did what was asked of him and did it well.

Unable to help herself, Harley asked, "you're going to say more when we're plotting the rescue right?" In her discomfort, her accent had broadened until she nearly sounded like her old neighbourhood.

She thought she detected the slightest hint of a smile on Frost's face though it could have been a grimace as well. "I'll go through it when we get there."

"Get where?" Impatience and frustration warmed her words. And it was underlaid with fear. Joker would have smelt that panic and moved in on it like a shark. Frost didn't even blink. And he certainly didn't answer. If he turned out to be a robot that would explain so much. Harley at least recognized where they were now. A part of town she hadn't gone since she was young and looking to blow off steam after a particularly hard exam. Of course she could have blown something else and made the exams inconsequential but once she'd learned the ropes of academia, Harley hadn't needed to offer her body to any of the professors in exchange for good grades. Her first year reputation had still stuck and only Jonathon hadn't cared what or who she'd done - they both saw it as what it was; necessary.

This part of Gotham catered to the hedonists and the laws were fuzzy here. Brothels and night clubs lined the streets. Whatever you might crave, it was available here - if you had the money to pay for it. Harley closed her eyes and let memories storm over her. Pretty eyes, caramel skin, full lips; a legion of people and a lifetime of pleasure but it hadn't satisfied her completely. It hadn't reached that little nook of self doubt she had nestled and nursed for years.

She opened her eyes. They were pulling up behind one of the side streets and then the car stopped. "Your discretion would be appreciated," Frost said to her quietly and Harley laughed unexpectedly.

"How could I tell anyone without screwing myself?" she asked.

Frost shrugged, a barely perceptible movement. "People do all sorts of things."

"Crazy things?"

"We don't use that word around here," Frost informed her mildly and got out of the car.

Harley followed, suspecting but needing to clarify. "Why?"

"Because we like to keep out tongues."

Anyone else and that would have been a quip. But she was starting to get a handle on Frost and she knew Joker. He hated when people called him crazy and he would see no irony about dissuading the habit by cutting out someone's tongue.

"Dangerous job you have here, Frost," Harley mused as she followed him to a door.

"Only if you don't know the rules," he fired back instantly, in that consistently neutral tone of his. He had her there, and she definitely didn't know the rules. She'd flirted with the dark side of Gotham - one couldn't be friends with Jonathon and not - but she'd never crossed the line. Now she was looking to get in bed with the worst the city had to offer.

Frost punched a code into the keypad, shielding the digits with his back. Harley rolled her eyes and glanced up. She realised the light was coming from a large neon sign above her head. An obscene grin shone down at her, red lips and all. Whatever this place was, it was connected to the Joker. She got the strangest sensation that he was watching her even though that was impossible. He was tucked away in the Arkham. He wasn't going anywhere. But she still felt his eyes on her like a brand.

It wasn't until she stepped through the doorway that it occurred to her why she felt his presence here so strongly. This was his kingdom, his domain. For a lot of their relationship - if it could be called that - they'd been on her turf. To some extent, they'd existed entirely in a controlled environment. Even before she'd played a role in getting him in Arkham, they'd been at warehouses or restaurants or museums. Impersonal, public places. This was his, she knew it in her bones. Here he was a king.

Harley shivered and questioned again whether she was making the right choice. She followed Frost as she doubted whether or not she should be here. And whether helping escape meant she was signing a contract with the devil.

There seemed to be a warren of tunnels but it was probably because each one looked exactly like the last. Harley could hear the pounding base of music through the walls. Without the melody it was just like the building had a pulse. She still didn't know if it was a club or a brothel until they emerged out onto a balcony. The dance floor writhed with bodies. Harley couldn't begin to count the people moving to the hypnotic flow of music - it was a successful enterprise, that was obvious. Probably it was Frost that had made it so. Joker didn't seem the type to have a business degree but despite that, she could see his hand in it. Garish neon, closeted booths for sinning, and nearly every inch of the walls were scrawled with words or pictures.

Harley had to pause to take it all in. A deck of cards, a number of grinning mouths and, of course, Jokers. It was as if the building was an extension of his skin.

"How have you not been shut down?" Harley called over the music to Frost, who appeared mildly perplexed that he had to stop.

"Homages aren't illegal," he explained. He looked uncomfortable raising his voice.

"An homage? This is basically The Joker's living room!" Harley could vividly picture Joker in one of the booths, or perhaps behind the two way glass masquerading as a mirror that spanned one of the walls. He'd be draped in attractive people, dressed to the nines, and holding a glass full of something that would cut on the way down. She wanted to see him like that.

"A bit of misdirection helps."

"How?"

"It's called True Crime."

Harley laughed out loud at that. It was so on the nose it was almost offensive. But Gotham's PD couldn't raid a place for tastelessness and as Frost said, homage wasn't illegal. As long as Joker had never been linked to the place, they had no reason to shut it down.

"How do you handle snitches?"

"Invitation only. Keeps the clientele of a specific caliber."

Harley arched her eyebrow. "And the snitches?"

"Get to meet Mr. J when he's in a bad mood."

Unbidden, Harley's fingers brushed her throat. He was volatile in a good mood, let alone when he was out to cause havoc. Frost was done playing show and tell so he led her to another door which required another pin code. It was a bland office and likely Frost's main work space. When the door shut behind them, the sudden absence of noise was a physical sensation. Harley subtly tapped at her ear to ensure she hadn't gone unexpectedly deaf. Frost gestured at an empty chair and Harley took a seat.

"I can do the heavy lifting with my resources," Frost began without preamble, "but I'll need your help getting information about Arkham's security practices and entry points.

Harley nodded and schooled her face into a blank expression. She could admit that part of her had hoped that her role would end with a tip off. That was unrealistic; she wouldn't be in this room if she didn't have some part to play.

"You've gotten him out of Arkham before, I didn't think you'd need a doctor this time."

"It's true, we've gotten him out before but each time we do, they learn and improve their security. It's gotten so good I believe we'd struggle without an individual on the inside."

"I want him out," Harley acknowledged. It was a nonsense thing to say to buy her time to think. It was all real now. Not whispered promises that nobody could prove. She'd gone to one of his business and liaised with one of his business associates. That was enough to get her jail time.

"If you're not committed, this is the time to say," Frost advised, almost gently. Her hesitancy must have been written all over her face or Frost was uncannily skilled at reading expressions.

"I don't want him to die," Harley said instead, sure of that fact at least. She really didn't, god help her.

Whatever Frost saw in her face now, he nodded. "Alright. I can work with that." He slid a building plan of Arkham onto the table. "Let's start tonight. I need to know the security provisions for entry first."

Frost had passed her a pen and the rest of the evening blurred into an outpouring of information. Harley had scribbled and circled and referenced everything that might be important. "I don't want anyone to get hurt unnecessarily," she'd told Frost at one point.

"I don't want that either," he'd replied, neither of them addressing the elephant in the room which was that their wants didn't matter much when it came to Joker. Still Harley helped and she shared information.

"When does it all happen?" Harley asked, fighting down a yawn.

"This is just reconnaissance," Frost explained. "I need to organize the man power. And then there will be more meetings where we discuss your role first." He sounded apologetic.

"Alright," Harley agreed, stomach twisted with premature guilt and anticipation. What would her life be like with Joker free? There was a version she wanted but didn't want to get her hopes up.

Sensing she was getting tired, Frost wrapped up the discussion and drove her a few streets away, where a taxi was already waiting.

"I could have found my own way home," Harley insisted as Frost walked her to the taxi, though she was secretly relieved for his presence. Side by side, he was over a foot taller than her and had shoulders like a football player.

Frost shook his head and tapped his phone, which was currently in his hand. "Boss says you're not to be left alone on the streets after dark."

Harley startled. "He said that?"

"He also said that if you want a shadow, you should text me."

Harley sucked in a breath. Despite the chaotic impulses that he was inclined to, Joker had still considered her wellbeing. It made her think of his confession to her when she'd drugged him. It was less and less easy to dismiss it.

"Thank you." It came out strangled but Frost's face didn't change. Harley climbed in the taxi and gave her address. Once she was in her apartment she pulled out her phone to read the last message he'd sent her again.

 _Sexy is afterwards when I drape your legs over my shoulders and fuck you until you beg_.

With shaky fingers Harley typed back a response. _Beg for what?_

It was late but she knew he wouldn't be asleep. His own reply followed quickly.

 _For more_.

…

The red light was blinking over her shoulder and Harley was very steadily not looking at it. She wasn't looking at him very much either but Joker didn't know if the two things were related. There was a tension between her eyebrows and the set of her shoulders. He on the other hand looked perfectly at ease. His arms were folded behind his head and both feet kicked up onto the table. One of his feet flexed in time to a song that existed only in his head.

She'd warned him that they would want to film more and more of their sessions, especially if they were going to use it in his trial. Joker was half curious about the case they would make to determine he was in control of his actions. But not enough to linger in Arkham and find out. Frost would be super pissed at him if he ended up actually getting executed due to narcissism and morbid curiosity.

Besides, dying wouldn't be nearly as much fun as watching his Doctor squirm. The meeting with Frost had gone well. He'd received a full debrief from him not that long after getting a text from Harley. Unlike Frost she didn't want to talk about the plan, she wanted to provoke him into sharing all the plans he had for her body after he escaped. He knew she was getting off on the fantasy. Not that he minded; the only difference was he saw his words as promises and he didn't think Harley was quite prepared for the reality. Still, not for the first time, he admired her gall (and possible stupidity). Took a braver soul than most to push him further. He'd still toned it down - he was supposed to be wooing her after all, lulling her into a false sense of security with romance bullshit and safely kinky overtures.

Joker grinned, enjoying the secret knowledge that he was going to screw her and then screw her over. Harley glared at him across the table, unsettled by the broadness of his smile even though if she knew what darkness lurked behind it, she would have run instead of frowned. She'd definitely been talking to him but he hadn't been paying attention.

"Sorry Doc, my mind wandered. What were you saying?"

A muscle in her jaw ticked and her fingers fluttered. Maybe she considered slapping him but that camera kept her on her best behavior.

"I was talking about the woman you see in your trance state." The faux calm of her words did nothing to hide the tension of her voice. If she was this jittery this far out from the job she wasn't going to be able to pull it off. Joker had taken part in half a dozen break outs, all of them successful. Harley seemed to be expecting the police to burst in to the room at any moment and drag him off. He understood they had time. He might disdain the hell out of it, but he knew rules and bureaucracy. And they sure as hell weren't going to risk fucking up his prosecution by rushing the process.

Joker focused on what Harley had said and made a face. "Ugh, why?"

"Because it seems to be important to you." She was trying to play the role of professional therapist but it also meant she was back to being stick up the ass Harley which was his least favourite.

Tilting his head slightly to the side, he dropped his feet back onto the ground with a thump. Harley didn't flinch but she eyed him warily. She could sense the subtle shifts in his energy better than even Frost now.

When his silence persisted, she spoke again. "Is there a reason you don't want to talk about it?" Her stare was challenging now which meant as well as she played pretend, Harley still got a thrill out of needling him. Maybe his supposed obsession had made her bold, and maybe his not so supposed obsession with her had made him seem docile. He usually never got past the bare bones of a plan, preferring to wing it, but even he was a bit surprised the trigger for the final phase had been the idea he was some how domesticated. It was absurd to the point of insulting. A subtle bloom of anger stretched in his stomach and he slid forward in his chair, cutting the space between them.

"I dream about you too, Harley, why don't we talk about that?" he prompted slyly.

She swallowed and almost imperceptibly shook her head. Those fucking cameras. She didn't have to worry. He wasn't going to give her away, he just wanted to have a little fun.

"Oh come on now, Doc, don't you want to know what happens to you in the dreams?"

Her eyes said yes, her mouth said, "I really don't."

"In most of them, I slit your throat."

Harley started and finally brought her eyes up to meet his and found them cold and flat. She tried to sit back, to create distance but he grabbed her wrists with his shackled hands and slammed them onto the table.

Harley hissed in pain. "Let me go." She was struggling to sound calm, like she was in control.

"Only most of the time of course," he continued, digging his fingers in. Her wrists were so fragile, he could break them. "Sometime I just use my teeth." He snapped them for emphasis.

"Mr J-"

"So fucking impersonal Doc." He was Mr J again all of a sudden and he could taste her fear on his tongue.

Harley started to look over her shoulder and stopped herself. Maybe she didn't want him to know she was scared enough to seek the security of the camera or maybe she didn't want to take her eyes off him. It didn't matter, the camera was for posterity not for live viewing. Unless they made a lot more noise, no one was going to interfere.

He was going to make a lot more noise.

"Sometimes I just leave you to die of old age, because you're already damaged goods." His fingers crept upwards, tracing a scar that remained courtesy of Graham. Time had dulled it to a slivery, white colour. If talking about killing her wasn't going to get a big reaction, bringing up Graham would.

"Fuck you," she breathed quietly - too quietly for the camera to pick it up. She tried to jerk her hands out of his grip but he held on. He moved with quickly, climbing over the table to close the final bit of distance. Harley tried to stand but she was too entwined with him to get far and she ended up tripping over the chair taking him with her. They went down on the floor in a tangle of limbs and he wondered if that was enough noise to bring the guards. Probably not. Crashing furniture was a staple in a mental institute.

Joker cackled loudly as Harley tried to fight free. She wasn't the type to go down placidly and he felt a number of sharp blows to his torso as she thrashed against him. He wasn't surprised when he started to get hard. A sudden stinging sensation near his eyes forced him to rear backwards. She had clawed him across the face. He caught a glimpse of her expression and she wasn't scared so much as she was furious. She scrambled to her feet and he hurried after her.

Harley tried to turn into him and strike out once more. He neatly dodged it but saw the force behind it. She was trying to hurt him and she was getting good enough that she might. But Joker had been scraping on the streets for as long as he could remember - literally - and everything about his wiry, lean form was built for violence. He crowded her, taking away any space she might use to maneuver. She got a close look at his silver teeth and his wild blue eyes.

Harley made to knee him in the crotch but he swiveled so the outside of his thigh absorbed the brunt of the impact and then took advantage of her unsteady balance to twist her arm behind her. Harley yelped in pain and he shoved her face first into the wall. Keeping an iron grip on the twisted arm, he pressed his chest against her back. Her cheek was against the wall, the lovely delicate profile of her face all that was visible. Probably for the best, she would have spit on him if she could have.

Joker rocked forward so she could feel him and he in turn could feel her spine stiffen.

"Isn't this what you wanted, Princess?" he murmured, lips right next to her ear.

"You're sick," she bit out, voice tight with discomfort.

"But you like that so much."

"You're crazy," Harley amended - he could feel her heart pounding against his chest. He bared his teeth at the sound of that word and roughly jerked her hips away from the wall some. Before she could protest, he forced his hand down the waistband of her skirt and under her underwear.

Harley shuddered against him and her head slanted back a little.

"You can lie all you want, Harls," he whispered to her. "But your body tells a different story."

She was wet beneath his stroking fingers. "Tell me to stop."

She felt so good against him, vibrating with fear but conspicuously silent. He pressed against her harder then slid a finger inside. Harley bit her lip hard and closed her eyes. He had to pause himself. At every turn he was surprised by how this woman threatened to overwhelm him, threatened to reduce him to nothing more than basic desire. For the briefest instant, he forgot he was proving a point he was so intoxicated with the expression on her face, the subtle roll of her hips. Her obvious attraction to his darkness fascinated him and emboldened him. He brushed his lips against her blond hair and let his thoughts quiet and clarify.

"If I'm sick, you're sick too Harls."

"You're crazy," she repeated, breathlessly now, tightening around him.

"You know what? I am crazy," he agreed softly, removing his hand from between her legs to a soft whimper from Harley. "A crazy mother fucker." He leaned in so she could see him even with her turned head and punctuated the sentence by licking his fingers clean, one at a time. "But the thing about crazy people, Harls, is that they can't stand trial."

Her eyes widened, understanding dawning on her. She glanced upwards. They were under the camera and out of sight. "I can't figure out if you're a genius or a hazard," Harley said shakily. "Or why I wish you'd just lift my skirt up and fuck me right now."

Joker molded his body to hers so once again she could feel the affect he had on her. It was the one thing he didn't have to fake. "All in good time. Which is what we have now so would you relax."

Harley nodded against him. If they thought saving her was enough reason to get him in court, then throwing her around some was going to buy them some time. Frost could work to any deadline but Harley's involvement was non-negotiable to him. If she gave herself a heart attack from anxiety then that would be no fun for anyone involved.

"Oh. Also you have to scream."

Harley turned in his grip, ignoring the pain of her twisted arm and kissed him. It was hard and deep and she was tasting herself on his lips. She pulled away, looking smug so briefly he wasn't sure he didn't imagine it.

Then she opened her mouth and started to scream for help.


End file.
